


Snow in May

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Alternate Universe - dectectives, Death, Depression, Dissociation, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Gore, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Smut, Obsession, Panic Attacks, Prostitution, Self-Mutilation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 80,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Murphy's Law, anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Atoms were never meant to split, but we created explosions anyways. When Hiroshima was bombed, they never knew the radiation would kill thousands more than it did, but that happened anyways. When the scared child inside of us all takes control, we end up falling in love with drug lords, prostitutes, and detectives like masochists addicted to the idea of star-crossed lovers. It wasn't meant to happen, but it could, so it did."<br/>A drug lord, hitmen, a prostitute, and a chemist. A team of detectives, an investigation later, and everything begins to fall apart.</p><p>An organized crime au based off of this headcannon by kuroo-ken on tumblr: http://kuro-ken.tumblr.com/post/141729772124/au-where-oikawa-kenma-akaashi-and-kageyama-are</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! im really obsessed with this concept, and im actually in love with this au so i decided to write a fic for it. the first few chapters are going to be short and introduce the characters, but i promise it'll pick up quickly. ill update the tags as this goes along for any extra warnings that will apply~

If there was anything Kenma hated more than the cold weather, it was the bone chilling rain. The winter wind whipped past his head, blowing his hair into his face as he walked, head down and hood up, looking down at the screen of his DS. The smell of rain surrounded him as small water droplets slid down his hair, splattering the screen of his DS with tiny dots of icy rain. He stopped at the bus shelter, seeking haven from the cold shower. Kenma knew it wouldn’t be long before the rain turned into sleet, or worse, hail. He sighed, leaning against the plexiglass and tapping away at his game. 

He ignored the sounds of cars speeding by and the stench of pot from the man standing beside him. Ironic, considering Kenma’s profession, but he scrunched his nose and turned his head anyways. He had other things to care about rather than the man’s drug habits and the weather.

The city bus pulled up to the shelter, to Kenma’s relief. He didn’t bother to look up from his game as he stepped onto the bus and passed his pay to the driver, picking a seat close to the doors. Kenma Kozume was particularly aquatinted with the 303 west, the bus that stopped a mere five minutes away by the metro station. It was routine for him to pass through the shady alleyways of the old buildings, walking by the hand painted murals sporting bright yellow graffiti that read something that could only be translated to “fuck the goddamn artists.” It was pretentious, for vandalization, but then again, street art usually was.

Kenma thought, by now, that he would acquire a certain kind of hatred for the run down buildings of this part of the city; the worn brick buildings, the broken glass and boarded up windows, the shoes dangling from power lines like Christmas ornaments. But rather, he found it had burnt itself into his mind, had rooted it’s way of life into him. This part of town, away from the cherry blossoms and pastel steel, with it’s gunshots and blood, seemed as normal to him as the weather. _Maybe that’s what you get when you live here all your life._ Kenma thought to himself as he stepped off the bus, making his way to the subway station.

Ten pm left the station practically desolate, the only sounds being Kenma’s footsteps echoing off the concrete walls. The chill crept into his bones as he dropped his dropped his tokens and made his way to the waiting point, stopping exactly where he knew the doors would appear. Pushing his hood back, he leant against the wall, and looked back down at his device to find a blank screen. 

“Dead battery.” Kenma muttered, pocketing the device. He continued to stare at the ground, opting to close his eyes and wait for the train to arrive. 

It was then that Kenma felt a bump at his shoulders, then a hand grabbing his arm, jerking him backwards from almost falling onto the live tracks. Stunned, he stood wide eyed looking at tracks. As the shock wore off, Kenma looked up to see a man apologizing.

“Jesus Christ I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean for that to happen, _oh my god_ you could’ve died I’m so sorry!” The man said, concern lacing his voice.

Kenma shrugged, taking a closer look at the man in front of him. He was wearing a dark green button up coat, and nice black jeans to match. The burgundy scarf around his neck matched his laced up boots. For someone so smartly dressed, his hair was an unruly black mess, sticking up at the front and falling awkwardly onto his face. Somehow, Kenma didn’t think the wind was the only reason for his hair style.

“Are you going to say anything else?” Kenma inquired silently, looking into his eyes as the man continued to stare at him. 

“Er- yeah, I’m sorry. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.” He said. 

“Kenma.” He replied, peering down the tunnel to look for the train. He was beginning to shiver, only wearing a hoodie in the cool weather was a mistake.

Kenma was greeted with the sight of headlights and the sound of wheels clacking against the tracks as the train pulled it’s brakes, halting in front of them. Kenma hurried on, taking the seat next to the doors while Kuroo chose to stand beside him. The train lurched forward and began to speed through the route. Kuroo stumbled slightly with the sudden movement.

“You know,” Kenma said, watching as Kuroo attempted to stay standing, “You can sit.”

“Oh thank god, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said as he hurriedly took a seat. 

Kenma cocked his head, but before Kuroo could open his mouth, Kenma had already replied.

“You wanted to talk to me, didn’t you?” He asked, looking at Kuroo.

Kuroo shrugged, rubbing his neck and giving a half hearted smile. “It was worth a shot.” He said. “What were you doing in this part of town anyway? I mean, it’s pouring buckets out there.” 

Kenma simply shrugged. “I was checking out a piercer, but the place didn’t look very sanitary. I know someone who runs a better place, but their piercer scares me.”

Kuroo let out a light chuckle, smiling at Kenma’s response. “Yeah, I’ve learnt to just trust the artist if they know what they’re doing.”

Kenma stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Kuroo didn’t know that the piercer was actually a hit man, but he tended not to blurt that out to people on the streets.

The train rolled on, stopping to pick no one up and starting yet again. Kenma swung his feet to change the position of his crossed legs, causing his DS to fall out of his pocket and onto the floor on the train. Kuroo picked it up in oneswift motion, not a second after it had fell and inspected it.

“God, I love playing video games but I absolutely _suck_ at them. You’d kick my ass.” He said, handing it back to Kenma with a smile. “Except racing games. I crush everyone in Need For Speed.”

“I doubt you’d beat me.” Kenma said, pocketing the device again. 

“Ohoho? Is that a challenge?” Kuroo said, his face breaking into a sly grin.

Kenma rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

Kuroo let out another laugh, this time louder. It rang through the empty train car, filling the cool underground air with warmth and the contagious urge to smile. Kenma ignored it, instead taking a deep breath and releasing a catlike yawn.

“So, what were you doing? It’s only fair you say, since I told you my reason.” Kenma asked, turning to look Kuroo in the eyes. He watched as Kuroo’s eyebrow lifted, only for a moment before he spoke.

“I was meeting up with a friend in a coffee shop. We got a little carried away in conversation, hence the hour.” Kuroo replied with a light laugh. This one didn’t carry the same caliber of the previous, it was filled with false humour a smile that didn’t extend to his eyes.

“Bullshit.” Kenma said, the moment Kuroo had finished. “There’s only one coffee shop in the area and it’s a chain you could find anywhere else. Your outfitcould probably pay for mine ten times over, I doubt you’d choose this part of town.”

Kuroo stood, slightly shellshocked at Kenma’s accusation. He let out a heavy sigh. He wasn’t wrong, after all.

“You’re preceptive, aren’t you?” Kuroo said. Kenma stayed silent, simply staring at him. Kuroo let out another sigh. 

“Alright, I’ll be honest, I was there on detective business. False lead, shitty weather, and my partner choose’s today to call in sick.” Kuroo shook his head. “Anyways, sorry for not saying it flat out, people usually get a little freaked out when they hear I’m an investigator.”

Kenma’s stomach dropped, but he kept his composure. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but he was doing his job and he was rather aquatinted with nosy detectives. However, Kuroo struck him as different. The majority of them would check him for drugs and leave, but Kuroo genuinely started a conversation. 

“Sounds like a shitty day.” Kenma said, not bothering to react outwardly to Kuroo’s confession.

Kuroo smiled and shrugged. “It wasn’t all that bad. I got to meet this pretty boy, and he’s rather good company.” A moment passed, and seeing that Kenma may have missed the hint he spoke again.

“I meant you, by the way.” 

Kenma was stunned. He wasn’t exactly used to speaking to people, and had very little experience when it came to friendly conversations, much less complements. His forte had always been going by completely unnoticed by everyone. 

Well, everyone except Kuroo, that is. 

“I’m sorry, that came off strong, didn’t it?” He said, beginning to look concerned. “I just meant-”

“It’s alright. Thank you, Kuroo.” Kenma said, blushing. Kuroo seemed to blush back, but the flickering lights may be playing tricks on him.

The train halted, and Kenma stood quickly, walking right into Kuroo as he turned to exit the doors. Somehow, for the second time that day, Kenma had almost fell onto the tracks. This time, they simply managed to laugh it off, stepping onto the platform without further near death experiences, not even a single bruise to show Kenma has almost died twice that day.

“Hey,” Kuroo said, as they began to leave the station. “Do you want me to walk you home? It’s pretty late.” 

Every single bone in Kenma’s extremely logical body was screaming at him to say no, to push him away, to tell him to fuck off, but somehow, he found himself nodding his head vigorously. Kuroo broke out into another smile, the kind that made Kenma drop his permeant apathetic expression for a softer one, one where he let the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. 

Kenma’s apartment was parallel to the exposed area of the metro line, his windows facing partially the trains, and partially the brick wall of the nearby shops that ran down the street. It was rather far down, and he was secretly glad for a reason to be accompanied down the dark road. He knew people who dealt with violence firsthand, and he’d rather not relive their stories of bruised ribs and missing teeth.

Kuroo talked as they walked down the street, about how spring was his favourite season and how he couldn’t wish for first flowers to bloom. Even in the dark, the amber light of streetlamps illuminated the glimmer in his eyes when he talked about the flowers.

“I wanted to be a florist, originally, but I think I love it a lot more that it’s not my profession, y’know? My condo has a patio, and once it gets warmer I’m gonna start arranging planters to put outside. I think I’ll do a lot of yellow and purple this year.” He said, using his hands to gesture wildly. Somehow, it made sense.

“I have a few succulents in my house. Everything else I try to grow dies.” Kenma said quietly. Kuroo replied excitedly, going on about his favourite cacti and how aloe vera is underrated. 

“I’m sorry, this is ridiculous, I just really like plants.” He said, laughing lightly. 

Kenma smiled. “No, I like hearing you talk.” Shit. He shouldn’t have said that.

Kuroo smiled back at him and shrugged. They continued to walk in comfortable silence, the odd car whizzing past, leaving them blinded by the headlights. The rain had stopped, and they were lucky to miss the hail. It was strange, walking with an almost-stranger back to your house, just because you don’t like the dark. Kenma tried his very best not to pay attention to the part of him screaming _bad idea._ They stopped in front of Kenma’s apartment building, Kuroo turning to Kenma with his phone in his hands, playing with his thumbs.

“Hey, can I have your number?” He asked quickly, slurring his words together in a way that Kenma realized the average person may have not been able to decipher.

Kenma nodded, handing Kuroo his phone and taking his, putting his contact into Kuroo’s phone. He handed it back to him, eyes flickering from the ground then back up to him, hoping he couldn’t see the blush rising up Kenma’s cheeks. 

“Kozume? That’s a pretty name. Thanks, Kenma, talk to you later.” He said, taking a few steps backwards as he waved to Kenma. Kenma waved back, and darted into his building. He watched from the other side of the glass as Kuroo even waited for him to enter the building before leaving.

Kenma was completely screwed. There was a reason he didn’t talk to people, a reason he didn’t interact, and the possibility of having a cop flirt with him was definitely up there. But despite every instinct telling him not to, he sent Kuroo a goodnight text before stepping into the elevator.

For a chemist who makes various drugs for a living, much less one of the largest criminal organizations on the eastern side of Japan, getting close to a cop was not an option. Kenma knew very well what would happen if he was caught. If he didn’t get thrown into jail, he knew for sure that higher up would have his head. Despite being close to the leader, he knew for a fact that the man wouldn’t hesitate to have someone slit his neck. 

Being close enough to him defiantly helped, but he had seen the scary side of Oikawa Tooru, and Kenma did not want his wrath unleashed onto him.

He fiddled with his lock, unlocking the door to his apartment. It was a modest size, and very open spare the half wall separating the kitchen from the living area. Kenma shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, imminently heading for his outlet to plug in his DS. He plugged in the charger and stood again to walk to the bathroom and run a hot bath. 

He walked into the bathroom, discarding his shirt and shorts, pulling out a bottle of lavender bubble bath. He poured it into the running water and sighed, rolling his neck back. His job didn’t require much physical labour, but it quickly worked kinks into his neck and left his joints stiff. Wandering back out into the living area, he grabbed his phone and his DS (only partially charged, but enough to last for the duration of his bath). Turning the corner, he entered to kitchen and grabbed a bottle of melon soda from the fridge, shoving it under his chin. Kenma shivered slightly at the cool metal, feeling the condensed water trickle down his neck.

Walking back over to the bathroom, he shut the door with his foot and placed the pop can on the ledge of the bathtub. He placed his DS beside it, and opened his phone to scroll his music library for something to listen to. Choosing a random electronic playlist, he set his phone on the floor by the tub and stepped into the warm water, shutting it off with the other hand. Sliding the rest of his body into the water, he rolled his shoulders back, releasing the days tension from his shoulders. The synths from the music sent little waves in the water, splashing up Kenma’s bent knees.

Letting out a long sigh, Kenma sank down into the water, fully submerging his face in the water. His hair billowed in the water, fanning out around his face. Everything was muffled underwater, the music, his thoughts, his worries, all replaced with the sounds of water. He couldn’t stay under forever, thought. Lifting his body slightly, Kenma poked half his head out of the water and took a deep breath through his nose.

It was unsettling, for him, to be noticed, when his entire life had consisted of him trying to do the very opposite. But whether he was noticed for a good reason or bad, Kenma couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, of being _known_. 

It wasn’t like Kenma wanted to think about Kuroo, but his mind wandered to him anyways. Not many people care to speak with strangers, much less walk them home in the dark. But somehow, Kuroo spoke to Kenma, of all people. And he listened when Kenma spoke, and he didn’t pressure him to speak when he didn’t. 

_I cannot speak to him anymore,_ Kenma thought, reaching for his shampoo. _It’s too dangerous to associate with the police._ Kenma poured the shampoo into his palm and began to massage it into his head, working his fingers through the long strands. 

_He’s probably investigating the drug labs, anyway. That’s the whole reason I was in that part of town, to throw them off._ Kenma reasoned. _Even if he wasn’t, he probably knows someone who is._ Kenma leaned forward and dunked his head underwater, working the shampoo out of his hair. It bubbled into the water, stealing from its clarity and tainting it with soap.

_But wouldn’t it be suspicious if I stopped speaking to him? If he already suspects me, running away would make him investigate further. If I just speak to him he’ll get thrown off and go away,_ Kenma debated with himself as he began to wring his hair of the dripping water. It was a simple idea, one that indulged his curiosity for Kuroo and also gave him a legitimate reason to. 

As he began to work the conditioner through his hair, his music cut out, giving way to the song that signalled an all to familiar person’s call. Leaning over the tub, Kenma grabbed his phone and answered, putting it on speaker.

“Neko-chan,” Oikawa sung through the phone. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Aw, Kenma-chan, you could be a bit nicer, couldn’t you?” Oikawa teased. Kenma could taste his signature sugar sweet grin from the other side of the phone.

“You know I don’t like phone calls, Tooru.” Kenma replied, lathering the rest of his hair in the conditioner.

“We aren’t talking about anything serious, Kozume, don’t worry!” Oikawa chirped.

“What do you want, Tooru, I’m taking a bath.”

“Harsh, Kenma. I just wanted to chat, and I would’ve come over but I have to stay at my place tonight.” 

“Why didn’t you invite The Three over?” Kenma questioned.

“Ah, they have their jobs to do, much like you and me. And you’re my best friend, Kozume, why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?” Oikawa asked sincerely.

Kenma sighed, dipping the back of his head into the water. “Fine. What do you want to talk about then?”

He heard Oikawa shuffle on the other line. “How about we talk about you? Did you beat that boss yet?”

“No, and I was going to try again in the bath until you called me.” Kenma said, rolling his eyes. It was half true, he would when he finished washing up.

“Aw, that’s no fun. See any cute boys?” He asked jokingly.

Kenma scoffed as he reached for his shaving cream and razor, propping one leg onto the side of the tub. “Like I’d tell you.” He said as he shook the can and applied the foam to his leg.

Oikawa gasped. “So there is someone, Kenma-chan! Tell me more before I die of curiosity.”

“Tooru, if you don’t shut up I will ask Tskukishima to kill you.” Kenma deadpanned. 

“Rude, using the Three against me. Speaking of, swing by the shop tomorrow, I’m getting colour work done on a tattoo, and didn’t you mention getting a piercing? Kageyama can speak with you then."

Kenma sighed as he continued to shave his leg. “I guess. I got to go, Oikawa, see you tomorrow.” He said.

“Bye Kozume, sleep well, okay?” And with that, the conversation was over, and Kenma’s music began to play again.

Kenma groaned. Every time he had to see The Three, he felt shivers go down his spine. It was only natural, being around murders tends to frighten most sane people.

The Three was, to the majority of the world, a small tattoo and piercing parlour, invisible unless you were really looking for it, home to the namesake of the store. The Three was not just a place, after all, but rather, a group of people Kenma tended to cower from. Hitmen: and good ones, to boot. Oikawa wasn’t one to skimp on resources, and having well trained, loyal killers was a necessity.

Kenma sighed again, starting to shave the other leg as he worried about the next day. Sure, he saw them so often, they should be considered his friends, but their unnerving personalities tended to scare the best people off. Or, at least, leave them ridiculously intimidated.

Dipping his leg back into the water, he let his head hit the end of the tub. People were not Kenma’s forte.


	2. seawater in an open wound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey !! thank you all for leaving comments on the last chapter, im so glad you're all as excited as i am!! after this chapter, the chapters will defiantly be getting longer and go a lot deeper into the plot, i just needed to get these out of the way to introduce the story. with that being said, i hope you like it~

Earlier that day, Kageyama had pondered whether or not he should take the job. But in the end, it wasn’t going to be his choice anyways, but he still found himself cursing Oikawa for not giving the job to Tskukishima or Daishou. Instead, here he was, after a particularly annoyinh job, with a dead body at his feet knife wound to the side.

Through the mouth, a clean, one shot kill. What he wasn't expecting, when he stepped up to the dealer who was spreading information a little too quickly, was for him to have a knife in his hand. Needless to say, Kageyama was pissed. His favourite suit had a slash in it, and his nice, new, white shirt was going to be stained with blood. Great.

He grabbed the body with his gloved hands, quickly setting up as a suicide. It was Kageyama’s least favourite ways of faking a murder, but it made sense in the situation. Oikawa had told him about his family life and the reason he started working for them in the first place. He was desperate, and Kageyama knew people tended to crack under pressure.

Kageyama walked away from the scene, stumbling slightly as he clutched the gash at his side. It wasn’t a stab, but rather a slice above his hip. He could mend it when he got back to Oikawa’s, but for now, he needed to stagger his way back along the pier and towards his car. It was easier said than done, every movement caused the slit to shift, sending a shooting pain up his side. _Goddammit, it’ll need to be stitched._ He thought.

He staggered along the pier, bracing the bitter cold winds and stinging pain from his side as he gripped the wooden railing on the pier. It was late by now, almost past midnight, and Kageyama wanted nothing more than to get his bleeding mess of a side fixed.

Suddenly, as he went to grab the next wooden railing, he heard the wood heave, and before he could react, the nails had snapped, and he fell into the icy cold water. It hit him like glass, the salt water piercing into his wound. It took every nerve in him not to scream as he went underwater, thrashing violently in attempt to fight the current and grab the post and climb onto the dock. 

The waves crashed against him, surging him farther from the pier. Having no other choice, he dived under the crashing waves and swam against the pull as he struggled towards the dock. He could feel himself going faint as he battled the freezing cold water to shore, lungs seizing, every breath shallow. He let out a load groan as he was swept under again, forcing his way to the surface to begin swimming again.

Nearby, a boy walking down the pier heard Kageyama’s yell. Confused, he walked over to investigate. Hearing it again, he ran towards the source, and spotted a man battling the waves off the pier. Racing over, he leaned forward towards the man, extending his arm for him to reach. The man grasped onto his arm, and was eventually pulled up onto the shore.

Kageyama coughed as he buckled over, gasping for air. He hissed, the wound at his side growing more and painful with every breath he took.

“Holy shit, are you okay? You’re bleeding, I’m calling an ambulance-” His rescuer said, pulling out his phone.

“No!” Kageyama croaked. “Take me- take me to my car, I’ll be alright. Don’t call them, please.” He pleaded, looking up into his eyes. 

He looked down at Kageyama with fear in his eyes, before wrapping an arm around him and hoisting him up. 

“My roommate is a nurse, she’ll be able to help you. I won’t let anyone know, okay?” He said.

Kageyama let out a grunt he hoped sounded lie an okay, and the boy helped him walk back to his apartment. It wasn’t easy, he was roughly twenty centimetres shorter, but they somehow managed to stagger back to his apartment, thankfully on the ground floor.

The boy opened the back door, dragging Kageyama towards a crowded breakfast bar, flicking on a light as he swept it clean of belongings. 

“YACHI!” He yelled. Even before he finished, a small girl with short blond hair appeared, wide eyed and staring.

“Hinata, what happened, who is-“

“Questions later, help him!” The boy, Hinata, yelled. 

Yachi hurried forwards, and she and HInita heaved his weak body onto to counter. Yacht pulled off his coat and practically tore off his blood stained shirt, inspecting the wound at his side.

“It’s not very deep, but it needs to be stitched, Hinata!” She called turning to see that he had already grabbed her first aid kit.

Pulling it open, Yachi poured a generous amount of alcohol to disinfect the wound onto a pad. Kageyama hissed when it came in contact with his wound, clenching his jaw and scrunching his eyes tight.

“Get his pants off, he’s already showing signs of hypothermia. Go turn up the heat and grab a blanket and dry clothes!” She called out. 

It wasn’t the worst way to have a wound mended, but Kageyama still found himself close to tears as she carefully stitched the wound shut. The alcohol on the open wound stung almost as much as the salt water did, and Kageyama found himself biting his lip so hard it drew blood. He didn’t even notice a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders.

His shivering started to slow, and he felt the blood begin to flow back to his fingers as his body warmed. Kageyama took a deep breath, silently thanking a higher being that he hadn’t been taken to the hospital. As his mind slipped away from the pain and cold, he let his eyes wander around his surroundings. He was in a small kitchen, lit by amber celling lights. To the side he could see where the living room was, a modest blue couch and TV, with a bean bag lying on the ground. There were three other doors, beside the patio door he came through, in the room.

He looked over to the girl, Yachi, who was finishing stitching his wound. Her short blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, tendrils of hair falling and framing her face. Her hands were steady, but is was clear she was trying hard not to shake out of shock. Looking to his right, Kageyama watched as the boy, Hinata, leaned against the wall, chewing on his lip. Inspecting him, he seemed to be roughly Kageyama’s age, despite being so much shorter. He had wild ginger hair, sticking up in every which direction. He was fiddling with his hands, picking at his cuticles and cracking his knuckles absentmindedly.

“What’s your name?” Yachi asked him. Kageyama stared at her without speaking, looking back from her to Hinata with slight fear and apprehension in his eyes.

“How about we introduce ourselves first?” Hinata suggested. “I’m Hinata, that’s Yachi. She’s a nurse, and my roommate.”

Kageyama nodded before speaking. “My name is Kageyama. Thank you so much for helping me, Hinata, Yachi.” He said, bowing his head. 

Yachi seemed slightly fearful of him now that he was speaking, taking a few steps back as she spoke. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital? What happened to you?” She asked.

Kageyama shifted, gingerly turning to let his legs dangle off the counter, wincing slightly at the strain it caused to his side. “I can’t stand hospitals, it’s too much for me.” He responded, voice wavering. “The rooms, the smell the people, I- I can’t-”

“It’s alright, don’t panic.” Hinata said in a quiet voice. “What happened to your side?” He asked.

“Mugged.” Kageyama grunted, tugging the blanket tighter around him. “I don’t think he thought I was very strong, I fought back and as he left his knife grazed my side. I fell into the pier afterwords, I was trying to get to my car. I know someone who could’ve stitched it.” 

Kageyama felt his stomach drop as he remembered his job. “Can I use a phone? I need to call a friend I was supposed to see. Mines a bit waterlogged.” No one laughed at his joke.

“Of course!” Hinata shouted, handing him his cell phone.

“Hinata, let’s give him some privacy.” Yachi reasoned, grabbing Hinata’s shoulders and dragging him out of the room as Kageyama dialled a number he hoped still worked.

The phone rang five times before being picked up. “It’s me.” He said when it was piked up.

“Kageyama, what the hell?” The strained voice on the other line said, belonging to no other than his boss, Oikawa. “Where the fuck are you? And why are you calling me on my disposable line?”

Kageyama sighed. “Knife wound, to the side. Goddam pier railings were weak and I ended up falling in. Someone found me, his friend is a nurse and she helped me. Job is finished, I’m the only thing compromised. What’s my next move?” He asked.

“Jesus Christ, today is not your day, is it? Stay the night, you’re lucky you don’t have hypothermia. What was you alibi?” Oikawa questioned, his exasperation not fully covering his concern.

“I got mugged.” Kageyama said.

He heard Oikawa sigh. “You’re still going to The Three tomorrow, piercing isn’t a full body workout. How long until it’ll heal?”

“It’s not deep at all, it’s just _long_. Only part of it is stitched, the real issue was the water.”

“That’s not an answer, Tobio-chan.” 

“Fuck you.”

“You wish. How long?”

“I don’t know, I’ll ask and tell you tomorrow.”

Oikawa sighed again. “Tsuki’s gonna _love_ taking your jobs.” He said sarcastically, referencing the other hitman. “See you at noon, Kageyama.” 

And with that, he hung up. Kageyama groaned, resting his face in his palms. It was frustrating, and he was ridiculously upset with himself. Scooting off the counter, he let his bare feet touch the ground as he wrapped the blanket around him as he walked out of the kitchen to look for the other two.

Yachi and Hinata were sitting on the couch, watching a sports game and arguing over a referee’s call. Kageyama cleared his throat as he walked in, watching the two whip their heads around as he entered the room. He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off.

“You are not going anywhere! You’re staying the night!” Yachi exclaimed, walking towards him. She placed her hand on his shoulder, causing Kageyama to instinictaly jump, but she held him still. 

“Just as I thought, you’re still cold. Hinata, go get him dry clothes, and share body warmth. I’m going to sleep, you should be able to handle it from here.” She commanded. For such a small girl, she was very authoritative, leaving no room for argument. She turned and left even before Hinata could argue.

Hinata shut off the TV, and grabbed Kageyama’s arm, dragging him into one of the rooms and shutting the door closed with his foot. Kageyama begun to protest, but he shushed him before he said anything. Hinata opened his draws, rifling through them to look for clothes big enough to fit Kageyama. Pulling out an oversized yellow sweater, he threw it at Kageyama’s direction and continued looking for pants. As he searched, Kageyama inspected his surroundings.

Hinata’s room was dark blue, with dark brown wood trim and cold lightwood floor. His bed, a simple queen, was pushed against the wall, with a nightstand beside it. It was small enough that the only furniture it held were a bookshelf and a dresser. There was a single window, however, it was very large, almost reaching the ground. The blinds, a beige colour, were drawn shut. He heard the familiar sound of drawers closing and looked over to see Hinata throwing him a pair of sweats. Catching them midair, Kageyama busied himself with putting them on.

“I really like your tattoos.” He heard Hinata say from behind him. Turning around quickly, Kageyama saw Hinata was already dressed in his bed clothes, an oversized shirt and worn running shorts.

“Er, thank you?” Kageyama said.

“They’re so bam and wow! The dragon on your neck and all the one on your back! It almost looks like a burn!” He said excitedly.

Kageyama’s hand went instinctively to the mark on his back. Hinata was sharp, even if  he didn’t think so, the geometric burn on his back was not a tattoo. Kageyama quickly threw on the sweater to cover up, and looked back over to Hinata who was pulling back the covers on the bed.

“Come on idiot, doctors orders. You need warmth or else you’ll freeze to death!” Hinata said, practically dragging him and tucking him into the bed.

Kageyama rolled his eyes but obliged, letting himself be swaddled in blankets. Hinata climbed onto the other side, slipping under the blankets and facing him.

“So, do you make it a habit to get injured to pick up boys or is it just me?” Hinata joked.

“Dumbass,” Kageyama said, kicking him from under the covers. “You think I wanted to get hypothermia?”

“Oh, boo, you’re no fun. What do you do then?” Hinata asked, rolling onto his back.

_Oh, you know, the usual. Trained ex ex-assassin and hitman, part of the goddamn yakuza, nothing out of the ordinary._

“I work at a tattoo parlour, I’m their piercer.” He said, running a hand through his damp hair.

Hinata’s eyes widened. “Piercer? That’s so cool! I have my ear’s pierced and my helix, but I always forget to put the earrings in.” He said excitedly.

“Don’t forget or they’ll close up!” Kageyama scolded.

Hinata rolled his eyes and laughed. “I think one of them might. How about I come by and you can redo it? Payback for me saving your life and all?” 

Kageyama scoffed. “You hardly saved my life. Yachi was the one who stitched the wound.”

“Hey! I pulled you out of the water!” Hinata argued. Kageyama just shrugged, causing Hinata to let out another frustrated sigh.

Kageyama closed his eyes and let himself relax into the mattress. “Yachi seems very nice, you’re lucky to have such a sweet girlfriend.” Kageyama said, rolling onto his back. Hinata burst out in laughter, causing Kageyama to cock his head in question.

“Yachi is _not_ my girlfriend, trust me, she has the biggest crush on this girl who comes by every so often to draw at the pier. Plus, I don’t even swing that way!” Hinata laughed. Kageyama watched as he broke into a grin that seemed impossibly large for his small size. 

Hinata’s smile wore off as he fell under Kageyama’s harsh glare. Though it was unintentional, his stare burned holes into him, causing Hinata to shudder.

“I’m sorry, did I freak you out?” Hinata said, eyes widening as he blushed. 

Kageyama viciously shook his head. “No, idiot. I have bigger issues than sharing a bed with someone who likes boys.”

“Oh.” Hinata said, rubbing the back of his head. The room was filled with silence as Kageyama turned over, wincing as his side twisted.

Kageyama closed his eyes, letting his face fall and faking sleep. He waited, feeling the covers shift as Hinata got up to turn off the lights.

“‘Night, Kageyama.” He said quietly, slipping into bed beside him. Kageyama mumbled in response, clutching a blanket tightly as he wished for sleep.

* * *

 

The sunlight shone into the bedroom, casting rays through the blinds, creating small lines of light across the wood floor. Kageyama opened one eye, slightly confused at his surroundings before remembering the night’s events. He sat up slowly, wincing at the strain on his side as he looked around the room. The clock on the bedside table read only half past six, yet Kageyama was alone in the room. Rubbing his eyes, he swung his legs off the bed and stood up, walking slowly towards the door where he could heard faint conversation and the sound of music.

Kageyama poked his head out of the room tentatively, and snuck carefully into the kitchen where Yachi and Hinata were sitting, drinking water and talking. On the counter were a few plates with eggs, rice, and various amounts of fruit. Hinata was smiling again, gleeful like a child, wearing nothing a pair of sweatpants and a towel around his neck. His bright orange hair clung to his forehead with sweat. Yachi, on the other hand, sported all white clothes with her hair pulled back, the iconic outfit of a nurse. She and Hinata seemed engrossed in conversation, gesturing wildly as they talked.

Kageyama didn’t mean to stare, but he found himself doing so anyway, watching the way Hinata’s eyes would widen when he was about to speak, the way he stuck his tongue between his teeth when he laughed. He wasn’t quite slouching, but his posture wasn’t perfect either, creating a relaxed frame as he leaned against the counter, eating his food. Kageyama’s eyes wandered down his body, much stronger than he thought, with biceps and abs you’d never think were there unless you looked.Kageyama tore his eyes away and moved out of where he had been hiding, walking into the kitchen quietly.

“Kageyama! You’re up so early!” Hinata exclaimed. “Here, Yachi made food!”

“Thank you,” He said, bowing his head to Yachi before turning to Hinata. “And you two can’t talk about waking up early when you were up before me.” He said, taking the plate from Yachi and sitting down at one of the stools and beginning to eat. It was good, and Kageyama restrained himself from moaning while eating the food.

“I have work in half an hour, and Hinata was on a run. We tend to be early risers.” Yachi said with a smile. Kageyama nodded and continued to eat his breakfast.

“Hey! How are you stitches?” Hinata asked, leaning onto the counter on his forearms. Kageyama shrugged. He had had worse.

“Oh, that reminds me. You’re coming back next week for me to take them out, no arguments.” Yachi said, her voice firm despite looking away when Kageyama met her glance. “I doubt you’d go to the hospital to take them out, and it’s only fair that I take them out if I was the one who put them in.”

Kageyama nodded. “Is there anyway I can pay you back?” He asked.

“Redo my piercings for free,” Hinata suggested. “Otherwise, you shouldn’t have to pay us back for anything. Where’s your parlour, I’ll swing by next week sometime.” 

Kageyama grabbed a notepad sitting nearby and wrote out the address, trying not to cast a side glance at Hinata who was leaning over his shoulder as he wrote. Kageyama could feel the heat radiating off his body as he waited. Scribbling down the last letter quickly, he handed Hinata the paper and stood up.

“I should be going. Do you have my clothes? My phone was in the pocket.” Kageyama asked. 

“Oh! I put your phone in dry rice, it should be dry by now.” She said. “And I stitched your suit jacket. The shirt was beyond repair though.”

She ran out of the room, reappearing with a bag containing Kageyama’s things. She handed it to him, and he took it, thanking her again.

“Er- can I have your number? So I know when to come back?” He asked awkwardly.

“Oh! Here, let me put mine in your phone!” Hinata exclaimed. Kageyama riffled through the bag and pulled out his phone, unlocking it and opening a new contact. He handed it to Hinata who quickly tapped out his number before handing it back to Kageyama with a grin.

Putting the phone into his pocket, Kageyama thanked them again before exiting through the front door.

Hinata watched as he left, waiting until the door shut before taking a loud sigh. “How can he still look like a super model while wearing a big sweater and track pants that don’t even fit?” He asked, exasperated. 

Yachi simply shrugged. “He seemed kind of shy, don’t you think?”

“Well of course he’s shy! He got stabbed and ended up sleeping in a strangers apartment! I’m just glad he was nice.” Hinata yelled.

Yachi rolled her eyes before saying goodbye and leaving for work, leaving Hinata alone in the kitchen. Collecting the dishes, he watched as the shadows casted by the sun left marks around the kitchen. Looking over at Kageyama’s note, he smiled. He would be seeing the mysterious man again, that he was sure of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, follow me on tumblr @spacegaykj !!


	3. gentle (not so)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey!!! sorry for the wait, i had exams!!  
> theres some ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) in this so keep in mind im a lesbian who is Confused About Dicks but i try my best  
> meet oikawa  
> my favourite

The wind howled, ripping through the trees and sending the umbrellas of pedestrians flying. Oikawa watched from his window, sipping at his coffee. The rainy weather was persistent, determined to linger unfathomably long, drowning the streets of Tokyo in showers. Oikawa didn’t mind the rain, it made for a pretty picture of raincoats and shared umbrellas at bus stops and crosswalks. 

He rubbed his eyes, walking away from the window to check his phone, reading through the emails he had been letting pile up. None of them were of any significance, since he had a separate email, and a separate computer, for his work. He checked is watch, sighing as he realized he had places to be.

Placing his empty cup in the dishwasher, Oikawa grabbed his coat and an umbrella from the closet. He slipped on his boots and walked to the door, grabbing his keys and stopping to turn on the alarm system before leaving his apartment. Shutting off the lights, Oikawa loved the door to his pent house suite and started down the hall to the elevator.There was only one other suite on Oikawa’s floor, belonging to a ridiculously rich old couple who spent half the year in their home in Fiji.

Oikawa fished his phone out of his pockets, plugging in his earbuds and slipping them into his ears as he waited for the elevator. He mouthed the lyrics to song as he waited, singing slightly under his breath as he watched the light climb towards his floor’s number. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wall as he waited. Hearing the familiar _ding_ of the elevator’s arrival, he snapped open his eyes. He stepped into the elevator, humming along to the song and drumming his fingers on the rail as the doors shut and the elevator began it’s decent.

Oikawa felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his pants. Pulling out his phone, he checked who the sender was: no other than Akaashi Keiji, the lead dancer and owner of a brothel, not to mention a distributor of Oikawa’s drugs.

_**Akaashi** : oikawa, im dropping by the three. its important._

Oikawa sighed, shoving the phone back into his pockets in frustration. The last few days had been constant work, backtracking and cover traces. He had an important meeting the following month and several people he needed dead, and with Kageyama injured for at least a week, he was stuck with only two hitmen he trusted to do these jobs properly.

Usually, the three were able to work out the jobs amongst themselves, picking ones that played to their strengths. Tsukishima, who fought with twin pistols, was an amazing shot and adapted well to any situation. However, guns weren’t always an option in some situations, and his hand-to-hand skills could only go so far. Kageyama was interesting, choosing guns for simple jobs while using the most unconventional weapons for the larger jobs he was assigned: dual samurai swords. It made sense, seeing his background, and made for good conversation. His jobs were always done quickly, and he had never once failed a job. The only issue, like in this circumstance, was his handiness with guns and regular weapons wasn’t to par with his genius-like swordsmanship.

And then there was the most interesting of them all: Suguru Daishou. Perhaps the most deadly, and consequently the most fearsome, Daishou was ruthless, not only killing his victims, but severing their limbs and slitting extra wounds into their dead bodies. It wasn’t unlike him to torture them needlessly, using his signature weapon of choice to make them cry and beg for mercy: knifes. Sharp and deadly, throwing knifes and daggers, strapped to his thighs and hidden in the folds in his clothes. They were beautiful, in a sick and twisted way. He killing things were glittery, pastel and shimmer, hidden leaf pocket knives, and all kinds of gold and silver daggers. At least if you’re being stabbed, you’re being stabbed in style.

Daishou, the twisted and merciless killer’s only weakness laid in his lack of secrecy. His murders were never concealed to look like accidents, and he went out of his way to drop the bodies in obvious places, leaving traps and trails with cruel messages written in blood. He even went as far as leaving a dead body in its home, sitting in a chair with a coffee cup, the words _“Absolutely Filthy”_ written on a small card in front of him. His reckless actions made him dangerous to give too many jobs, he could be traced back to Oikawa’s cartel easily if he carried out every job.

All three were deadly killers, and it was fair to say it’d be almost impossible to win a fight against one of them, much less all three. But it was necessary to have them work together sometimes, for bigger operations, but the issue of cooperation always came into play when they were together. After all, you can’t put three tom cats in a cage and expect no one to come out with bruises, as Oikawa first learnt hiring them. It had been years now, and their partnership has defiantly improved from when they were practically at each other’s necks.

The elevator slowed to a halt, chiming to announce its arrival to the parking floor where Oikawa’s car was parked. He stalked through the cold underground, listening to his footsteps bounce off the cement walls as he strolled towards his silver Porsche. It was cold, and Oikawa found himself jogging to the car, unlocking the doors and slipping inside quickly. Igniting the engine, he felt the car hum to life around him, lighting up the interior. He unplugged his earbuds, letting his phones music play through the car’s bluetooth speakers instead.

The moment Oikawa left the parking garage, his car was pelted with the relentless rain. Lip syncing the words to the song, he flicked on the windshield wipers and navigated his way through the busy streets towards The Three. Pulling up to a red light, Oikawa drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched people hurry by, umbrellas in hand, darting across the streets and avoiding the puddles. 

It wasn’t a long drive to The Three, an Oikawa soon found himself pulling into a parking space by the front doors. Grabbing his umbrella, Oikawa stepped out of the car, slamming the door and opening his umbrella. He rushed to the door, ignoring the sign reading _‘closed’_ on the door.Shutting his umbrella and placing it by the front, Oikawa shredded his coat. The front was empty, but voices could be heard from the lounge. He made his way over, running his fingers along the exposed brick walls as he went. 

“Heyo~” Oikawa said in a sickly sweet voice as he walked into the room. “Miss me?”

In the room was Kenma and Akaashi sitting on the couch, with Tsukishima sitting crosslegged on an armchair, Kageyama sitting on top of the small table in the room, and Daishou leaning against the wall. Kenma rolled his eyes at Oikawa’s greeting, and Akashi looked like he would if he wasn’t slightly intimidated. It was hard to tell, but the way he fiddled with his hands gave it away.

Oikawa shut the door behind him, locking it and pulling out a chair from the table. He sat down cross legged, leaning back and looking to the ceiling. “So who’s gonna start explaining the utter bullshit that’s been happening?” He said, smirking towards Akaashi and Kageyama.

Kageyama took a deep breath before speaking. “Yesterday, when I left to kill the snitch, he had a knife hidden that I didn’t see. He sliced along my side, above my hip. He ended up dead with one hit. When I went back to my car, I was leaning on the railings and I fell into the water. A passerby found me, name, Hinata. His roommate, Yachi, stitched me up on the condition that I’d come back to get them out. I can still do small jobs-“

“But the thing is Tobio-chan,” Oikawa said, cutting him off as he turned to straddle the chair and face the raven haired man. “We don’t have any small jobs anytime soon. Daishou, look at his wound, how long until he can fight with his swords again?”

Daishou grinned, stalking towards Kageyama as Oikawa dragged his chair back. “Strip, Kags.” He said grabbing the hem of Kageyama’s shirt. Kageyama smacked his hand away, pulling off his shirt to expose the stitches up his side. 

Tsukishima wolf whistled. “Hey, Kageyama, you looking for a side job? I heard Akaashi’s boss is hiring.” He said, earning him a sigh from Akaashi.

“You’re lucky you have muscle, because you could’ve gotten away without stitches. Raise your arms, sweetheart?” Daishou said, only to be hit as Kageyama raised his arms. 

“Yeah, you can go back to using swords a few days after the stitches are out. Idiot probably had no idea what he was doing.” Daishou said, leaning back and stepping towards the window.

“Thank god, I thought he’d be no good for at least a month.” Oikawa said in relief. 

“Wow, I feel loved.” Kageyama grunted, pulling on his shirt. 

Oikawa ignored him, crossing his legs again as he turned to Akaashi. “And what’s wrong with you?”

“Cops.” Akaashi said simply. “There’s this one who’s been undercover, just investigating for prostitution. He blew his cover pretty early though, and my dancers aren’t stupid enough to offer drugs and sex to people without being approached. He’s sharper than I thought though, and I found him waiting by the area where we usually do trade off’s.” 

“Do you want him dead? We can trade services if you’d like”. Daishou asked with a wink. 

Akaashi rolled his eyes. “He’s not that big of an issue, but I think you need to know, because he catches and slip up with my dancers or decides to get backup, he’ll be able to search for drugs and they’ll trace it back to the clan.”

Oikawa frowned. “You don’t sell in house, though, right?” He asked.

Akaashi nodded. “They essentially buy the dancer out and give them an address to go to. It’s all paid for beforehand, I’ve told you this. But the drugs are distributed in house.”

Oikawa bit his lip, thinking. Akaashi was smart, and ridiculously tricky. Oikawa trusted him to keep his sexual activities secret, but it was clear that the drugs weren’t making it any less easy.

“Give him three months. If he’s still coming around and poking his nose in places he shouldn’t, he’ll be killed.” Oikawa decided. 

Akaashi nodded, and Daishou squealed. “I call dibs!” He shouted, causing Tsukishima to let out a sigh.

“Oikawa-san, do you want to start your colour work now? I can set up now if you’d like.” Tsukishima asked, standing up and purposely tripping Daishou as he went to steal Tsukishima’s spot.

Oikawa nodded, letting Tsukishima leave the room to prep the things needed to get ready. He leaned back into his chair, letting out a deep sigh as he uncrossed his legs. It was earlier in the morning than he would have preferred, and despite having drank coffee, he still felt as if his body was asleep. However, he seemed to be the only one, as Daishou had launched into a story.

“So the other day, when I’m keeping an eye on Kenma as he does his rounds, whatever, right?” Daishou started, making sure everyone in the room was listening “ Then, I see that one goddamn investigator that managed to slip away, and I see him get out of his car and walk into a coffee store. So, naturally, I want to protect our dear and precious Kenma from corrupt and evil cops, so I took my knife and slashed his tires. Then, I scratched his paint job, all around the car. And as the cherry on the cake, I broke both his tail lights. Idiot didn’t even notice!” He exclaimed, doubling over in laughter.

Kageyama rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He said.

“You’re one to talk.” Daishou shot back, flashing him his signature shit eating grin. 

“As long as he doesn’t end up blowing his cover, he’s fine.” Oikawa said, standing up to meet Tsukishima in the private room. “Kenma, come with me, I need moral support.”

“No.” Kenma said, not looking up from his game.

Oikawa pouted. “Kenma, c’mon! Akaashi, will you come? I’ll pay you!”

Akaashi glared at Oikawa. “I’m a prostitute, not a babysitter. I’m leaving now, call me if you need anything.” He deadpanned, standing up and pass Oikawa on his way out.

“Bye Akaashi! Now come on Kenma, please?” Oikawa pleaded. Kenma sighed, standing up and following Oikawa out of the lounge, pocketing his PSP momentarily as he followed OIkawa out of the room.

Oikawa tried to let his composure fall. Kenma could call his bullshit in a millisecond, so he would know when Oikawa was faking his confidence. It had been a rough night, and right now all he wanted to do was sleep and forget about whatever nightmares lurked behind closed eyes.

Walking into the tattoo room, Oikawa discarded his shirt and sat on the table, shimming his pants down to his knees and lying on his back. He wasn’t sure where Tsukishima was going to start on the colour work, the tattoo stretching from his upper ribs, dancing all the way down to his upper thigh, trailing off to dip down his hipbones and to follow the curve of his ass. It was completely compromised of flowers, roses and cherry blossoms, pussy willow branches entwining seamlessly with geometric designs to connect the piece together.There was waves in a traditional artistic manner drawn as well. It was oddly chaotic, yet strangely beautiful. It was the only ink Oikawa had, but considering it was such a large piece, it was unusual. It was also a rather feminine piece, looking for curves to hug that Oikawa simply didn’t have.

Kenma sat in a chair beside him, crossing his legs and staring at Oikawa’s tattoo outline. Kenma had tattoos as well, small and invisible without a careful eye. One behind the ear, at the nape of his neck, the small of his back, his right hipbone, ankles, wrists, the inside of his middle finger. 

“You’re upset, aren’t you?” Kenma stated, looking Oikawa dead in the eye.

Oikawa sighed, shrugging. “You got me there. Nightmares have been getting bad again.”

Kenma furrowed his brow and pouted slightly, concentrating. “You’ve taken your meds?”

“Yes, Kenma.” Oikawa drawled, mocking the voice of a child.

“And you’re staying away from acid?” Kenma pressed, ignoring Oikawa’s tone.

“Of course, you know what LSD does to me.” He said, dropping his joking tone immediately. “Besides, it’s probably a numb period coming on again. I’ll just remember to keep my shit together this time, don’t worry.” Oikawa replied.

Kenma nodded, relaxing slightly as he took his PSP out of his pocket and began to play. Oikawa took a deep breath, exhaling and letting his head hit the cool countertop. He heard the door open as Tsukishima walked in. The blonde reached for his gloves and took a seat next to Oikawa.

“Shift your weight and arc you side slightly. We’ll start from the top and work our way down.” Tsukishima commanded, readying the gun and prepping Oikawa’s skin. “Try not to cry.”

* * *

 

Almost ten hours later, Oikawa left the parlour, side bandaged in plastic and cheeks stained with salt. The piece was long, and shading hurt like hell. Oikawa was stubborn as always, demanding to do the entire thing in a single sitting, breaking once for the washroom. It had turned out just as beautiful as he had imagined it, leaving him smiling despite the pain.He stayed behind a few extra hours, talking to Tsukishima about things that needed to be done and his pay. By the time he was about to leave, he was able to take off his bandages and apply the salve to the tattoo.

Oikawa climbed into his car, starting it and pulling out of the parking lot. He waved Kenma goodbye as he drove away, blessing the small boy for staying the entire time without complaint. 

Oikawa was ridiculously tired, and craved caffeine. He sighed, listening to the sound of rain pattering against the roof of his car. It hadn’t let up, pouring down in buckets. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect a hurricane. He turned on his wiper blades, rounding a corner and looking for a coffee shop that would still be open at this hour. It was an artsy area of town, a performing arts university residing nearby, hence the murals painting the various walls of brick buildings, brightening the grey atmosphere with their colour. Oikawa smiled, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he parked along the side of the street, moving to grab his umbrella only to realize, it wasn’t there. Swearing, he realized he left it at The Three. The coffee shop was only a block away, but he was going to be drenched in the icy rain. He sighed, accepting the fact that his hair would be ruined, and stepped out of his car.

He dashed towards the store, weaving in-between pedestrians as he tried to beat the rain. A loud splash erupted from the street, and Oikawa looked down to realize a nearby car had splashed him. If he wasn’t already soaking, he wouldn’t have laughed. Running through a puddle in front of the door, Oikawa slowed to a halt as he faced the front of the shop. Dragging his feet in a pointless attempt to limit the mess, he opened the door, listening to the faint ring that echoed through the shop.

Oikawa sighed, pushing his wet air out of his eye as he took in the shop.It was small, yet cozy, with a cherry wood interior and colourful artwork plastered on the walls. Small circular tables, made of sleek metal and dark wood, were placed around the room. Oikawa’s eyes wandered to the front desk, where a white haired man was placing a fresh batch of lemon loaf into the display area. Walking up to the counter, Oikawa read his name tag. Written was _Aone_ in bold, precise print.

Oikawa was snapped out of his daze by the man asking him for his order. Rubbing his eyes, he ordered a caramel latte, extra espresso, and went to sit at one of the tables as he waited for his drink. He groaned, feeling the strain on his left side from the fresh tattoo. The rain pelted the windows of the storefront, creating a steady beat of _pitter patter_ to go along with the hum of the coffee machines working.

Oikawa closed his eyes, exhaling the tension in his shoulders as took a moment to forget about whatever existed beyond the doors of the shop. He was here, in the moment, listening to the whirr of coffee machines and the drumbeat of rain, sheltered from the problems outside. That is, until he heard the door open, and a familiar voice call his name.

“Tooru?” The voice called. Oikawa snapped his eyes open, looking towards the man in front of him, none other than Iwaizumi Hajime. He was wearing a button down and a large tan coat, a few shades lighter than his skin. The face was one that Oikawa knew like the back of his hand, the face of someone he had known from the moment he learned to speak. Defined brown, strong jaw, dark chocolate hair as stubborn and messy as ever.

“Hajime?” He questioned, his voice wavering as he stared into his familiar green eyes. Memories flowed back like tidal waves, and Oikawa found himself opening his mouth to say a thousand apologies he knew the man deserved, but all that came out was a choking noise. It had been years, but when Oikawa felt a pair of strong arms wrap around his torso, it felt like they had only been away for a few days, like they were still in high school. 

“You never came back.” He stated, anger clearly visible in his eyes. “A part of me thought you _died_ , Oikawa.”His voice began to crack, the tell tale sign of keeping in emotions.

“You deserve to know what happened, Iwa. I’m so sorry, you never deserved me, or any of this mess-” Oikawa started, his voice quivering with anxiety as he spoke. Memories he spent years repressing, the image of clawing out a man’s eyes, a black tuxedo and a funeral for someone he didn’t even love forced themselves into his present mind. He was reliving every detail, and the world went fuzzy before Iwaizumi began to speak.

“This mess? Tooru, you’re better now, aren’t you?” Iwaizumi questioned. 

Oikawa shrugged his shoulders, laughing half heartedly. “Things like that never go away.”

Iwaizumi understood him, Oikawa knew. He knew his former best friend knew how hard that year had been, but the things Oikawa kept from him still rested at his fingertips, threatening to touch his skin and show him the truth: the blood and the fury, the reason he was standing where he was, Japan’s biggest criminal case, a leader who was still left unidentified.

“Come back to my place. I, we, I want to-“ Iwaizumi said, but Oikawa already started nodding his head, grabbing Iwaizumi’s tanned wrist and dragging him outside, drink completely forgotten.

They took Oikawa’s car, Iwaizumi raising an eyebrow as he admired the expensive interior. 

“Inheritance. Dad left everything to me.” Oikawa said as he watched Iwaizumi grin at the leather. Growing up, he had been the one to love vehicles, forcing small Oikawa to play with his toy cars, help assemble them with his nimble fingers. 

_Fuck_ , Oikawa thought. _You shouldn’t be doing this._ It was chilling to see how much they fit like puzzle pieces, filling in the holes of being apart for so long with the nostalgia of being so intertwined for the greater part of their lives. It was like Oikawa could feel the bandages on his knees from running after Haijme in the fall, the callouses on his hands when they would play sports in the summer. With every passing season Oikawa could remember how Iwaizumi evolved.

The car ride was filled with questions, _Where’d you go? Why’d you leave? What brought you to Tokyo, I thought you loved the country?_ All with their appropriate answers, Oikawa’s alibi flawless and painstakingly _true_ despite the obvious facts he kept behind his lips. Some were rhetoric, the most common _why don’t you hate me?_ leaving the both of their lips before they could even come up with an answer.

(“The thing is, how could you hate a person who had done nothing wrong?” Iwaizumi would say, and Oikawa held his tongue from saying how wrong he was. Iwaizumi was right, he never did anything to deserve Oikawa’s burdens, but Oikawa was far from perfect. But how could you hate the person who you held when they cried into your arms, confessing their soul in a way you’d never be able to do? Oikawa was a jealous person in essence, but he could never find a fiver in him able to hate Iwaizumi.)

When they arrived at Iwaizumi’s apartment, the scent of sunflowers and lemon dish soap and _Iwaizumi_ overfilled Oikawa’s senses, sending his mind the the phrase home. It was soft colours, wooden floors with an industrial feel. Oikawa stepped in, turning around to face Iwaizumi as he closed the door.

“You know,” He said, taking a step towards Oikawa. “It’s rude to linger in doorways.”

“Oh Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, voice soft, using the old nickname he knew Iwaizumi hated. “When have I ever been polite?”

And Iwaizumi was looking into his eyes, taking another step to bridge the gap between them, brushing a strand of hair out of Oikawa’s face, saying nothing. _Fuck it, I’m in too deep already._ Oikawa thought, as he leaned down and kissed him, the sensation familiar after all those years.

Iwaizumi surprised him, instantly grabbing his shoulder and slamming him against the wall, his lips forceful and different from Oikawa had ever experienced before. Oikawa’s hands had already made their way up to his hair, pulling on it as Iwaizumi bit his lip. Oikawa’s let out a heavy exhale, parting his lips to make way for Iwaizumi’s tongue. He felt a shudder rush through him as Iwaizumi began to press against him harder, leaving no space between their bodies as Iwaizumi ground down onto Oikawa, who bit Iwaizumi’s lip to keep the noises at the back of his throat from escaping as he bucked up to meet his hips.

“Jump” Iwaizumi commanded, his voice low and powerful, and Oikawa was happy to oblige, wrapping his long legs around Iwaizumi’s torso. Oikawa pushed his jacket off of his broad shoulders, beginning to unbutton his shirt. After only wrestling two buttons free, Oikawa found his hands pinned above his head, a whine escaping his lips as Iwaizumi began to kiss his neck.

Oikawa arched his back, gasping as Iwaizumi bit down on his neck. His tongue massaged the soft flesh as Oikawa’s legs tightened around his waist. Suddenly, Iwaizumi’s hands left Oikawa’s wrists, and traveled their way down to his ass. Oikawa gasped as he squeezed his ass, pressing it against his crotch, providing him better leverage to grind down on him. 

And then they were moving, Iwaizumi’s strength carrying them down the hall and into his bedroom where Oikawa was practically thrown onto the bed. Oikawa immediately sat up to watch as Iwaizumi pulled off his shirt and threw it to the floor. He climbed onto the bed and leaned down to meet Oikawa’s lips, biting at his lip and backing him towards the headboard. Oikawa reached down to fumble with the buttons of Iwaizumi’s pants, pushing them down with one hand and using the other to palm Iwaizumi through his boxers. Iwaizumi let out a delicious moan, followed by a growl as he kicked up his pants and pinned Oikawa down onto the bed, looming over him. Oikawa arched his back as Iwaizumi pulled off his shirt, wincing slightly as he ran his hand over the still tender tattoo. 

“Watch the tattoo.” Oikawa warned as Iwaizumi took a closer look at the swirling patterns on his side. His touch on Oikawa’s hips was still too light, only ghosting over the skin. He shivered in anticipation and whined as Iwaizumi brought his face down to his lower stomach.

“Does it continue?” He asked, his eyes wide, with a familiar glint of mischief in them. Oikawa nodded vigorously, opening his mouth to complain about the lack of touch only for Iwaizumi to tug down his pants and boxers in once swift motion. 

Oikawa let out a heavy sigh at the release of pressure, watching as Iwaizumi traced his fingers around the blooming roses that dipped down onto his lower hip, hands so close, but _not quite dammit_ , to where he wanted them. The other hand trailed down his thigh to where the tattoo ended. Oikawa whined, squirming under the barely there touches. 

“I don't intend to be gentle.” Iwaizumi said, voice low as he smirked down at Oikawa’s disheveled appearance. Iwaizumi knew exactly what he was doing to Oikawa, making the man beneath him shudder slightly as Iwaizumi ran his hand along his side. His submissive behaviour didn’t last long before his playful glint returned to his eyes, flashing a devilish grin as he sat up, sitting directly in Iwaizumi’s lap. Iwaizumi stifled a groan as he ground down. 

“Let me ride you then, Iwa-chan” Oikawa challenged, his breath heavy and causing a small shiver to run down Iwaizumi’s spine. It was ridiculous how he managed to still hang onto his pride, raising an eyebrow and smirking as he attached kissed down his jawline.

“As if I’d ever give you dominance.” Iwaizumi growled, only for Oikawa to use the element of surprise to flip him over and pin him down, pressing Iwaizumi’s toned arms against the bed as he moved to kiss at his neck, knee pressing between Iwaizumi’s legs. Iwaizumi moaned beneath him as he rolled his hips against him.

“Why don't you be a good boy for me, _Hajime_?” Oikawa whispered into Iwaizumi’s ear, his sickly sweet tone sending shivers up Iwaizumi’s spine.

“Oh, fuck you,” Iwaizumi said flipping them again in one swift motion, pressing his body weight down onto Oikawa, causing him to gasp and arch his back. 

The entire situation was surreal, from Iwaizumi’s strong hands gripping him, to the pleasure that rushed through him as those same strong hands caused shudders to run up his body. And suddenly, there was an uncomfortable pleasure that soon made way for pure euphoria as Oikawa bit his lip to keep himself from crying out.

And everything was _white_ , and Tooru got a sick kind of pleasure in tangling his fingers his fingers in Iwaizumi’s mess of a hairstyle, gripping so hard he thought it would fall out. Everything was over-exaggerated, overstimulated, every touch feeling like ice against fiery skin. Oikawa wrapped his legs around Iwaizumi’s hips because he wanted _more_. There was hot breathing against his neck and Oikawa unconsciously raked his nails down Iwaizumi’s back, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

Iwaizumi gasped into Oikawa’s ear as he pushed harder, causing Oikawa’s back to arch upwards, pressing their bodies close together and Oikawa was _gone_. He squeezed his eyes shut as he came, letting out a strained cry that ran throughout the room.

Iwaizumi was shuddering above him, crashing down their lips in a frenzy as he ran his hands up and down Oikawa’s shaking body, worshipping every valley and curve with his fingertips as if memorizing the skin with his hands. Everything was white, and then, there was nothing.

Iwaizumi rolled off of Oikawa, grabbing a tissue and beginning to clean him up as Tooru tried to regain an actual thought process. He felt Iwaizumi massage the marks left on his hips and sides, from both his hands and mouth. Oikawa lifted his head to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze, giving him a sly smile that soon turned into a childish grin, tongue sticking between teeth. Iwaizumi threw out the tissues, and climbed into the covers next to Oikawa, pulling them over their bare bodies. He turned to face Oikawa, the man throwing one of his long legs over Iwaizumi’s hip as he snuggled closer to him, their noses almost touching.

“How about we do this over,” Iwaizumi whispered. “Tomorrow night, I take you out for dinner. Sound nice?” He asked.

Oikawa hummed. “Anything with you is nice, Iwa-chan.” He said, pressing a kiss to his nose.

“I missed you, you idiot.” Iwaizumi grumbled. Oikawa laughed, airy, like bells.

“So did I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! talk to me about the expanded universe of this au on my tumblr spacegaykj~ i promise the wait wont be this long next time!!!


	4. bittersweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN TO THE LINKED SONG PLEASE. do it.  
> im getting REALLY EXCITED because theres hella foreshadowing in this chapter and. just iwaizumi. i love my smol son. he doesnt deserve this. hope you guys like it!

Iwaizumi wakes to an empty indent in the bed beside him, and the feeling of lingering warmth on his body. Faintly, he could hear the sounds of the shower running, the water humming through the apartment as he struggled to pull his eyelids open and not fall back into blissful sleep. Iwaizumi was never one for mornings, or waking up in general. His room was light, the overcast skies only doing enough to fill his room with a soft blue tinge from the window pane. Groaning, he pulled himself up to a sitting position, forcing his head off the pillow and back into reality.

_Leave it to Oikawa to help his self to the shower,_ Iwaizumi thought, rolling his eyes as he swung his legs off the bed. He rubbed his eyes as he shivered, the cold air chilling his bare body to the bone. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants lying on the ground, throwing them and a loose t-shirt on. He found himself facing his mirror, running his fingertips over the bruises on his neck and jaw. They were purple against his tan skin, standing out like little reminders of the lips places on them the night before. He reached his hand to touch his back, feeling the slightly raised skin. He didn’t dare test how tender it still was, but twisted his back to the mirror, turning his head to stare at the angry red lashes running down his back.

Iwaizumi’s chest faltered as his fingertips traced the lines down his back. It wasn’t pride, nor shame causing the flutter in his stomach as he threw on his shirt, covering the marks in his skin. Acceptance? Relief? The familiar taste of the morning after and the sting of fresh wounds, maybe?

He shook his head, not bothering to linger on fleeting thoughts summoned in a groggy haze. As he left his room, he could hear the faint sounds of s voice carrying through the shower. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as he started the kettle, opening the drawers to look for a pan. Old habits die hard, and OIkawa’s voice only carried further when the water shut off. 

_I[ can say that you look pretty](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)_

[ _You turn my legs into spaghetti_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)

[ _You set my heart on fire_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)

[ _For you I found a vent_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)

[ _In the bottom of a coal mine_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)

[ _Just enough space for your hands in the inside_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)

[ _If you go_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)

[ _Do let me know_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDsuR22GQPQ)

His voice rang through the walls, filling the apartment with his voice. Iwaizumi smiled as he cracked the eggs into the pan. Oikawa’s voice was melodic, slightly girlish in tone. Maybe too nasal for some, but Iwaizumi didn’t mind. There was a certain comfort in being thrown into a routine you used to live as a kid, cooking eggs for the lanky boy as he washed up, taking his time to sing as he combed his hair. The stovetops clock read 7:53, leaving Iwaizumi just over an hour and a half to get ready for work.

It wasn’t long before the bathroom door opened, revealing a messy haired boy, clad in a large flannel, obviously Iwaizumi’s, and a pair of black boxers. He meandered in, his voice quieting as he sang under his breath, walking beside Iwaizumi and placing his hands around his waist, placing a wet kiss on his neck. Iwaizumi groaned, pushing him off and handing him the spatula.

“Good morning to you too, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi grumbled, moving out of his embrace. “I’m getting in the shower, I assume you can fix up eggs without screwing up.”

Oikawa sighed. “You have no faith in me, I swear.” He said, taking the spatula from Iwaizumi and taking his position in front of the stove. He hummed as Iwaizumi walked away into the bathroom.

Closing the door behind him, Iwaizumi released the tension he was unconsciously holding in his shoulders. Despite the sweet nostalgia and calm atmosphere that radiated when he was around Oikawa, Iwaizumi couldn’t deny the questions and concerns repeat up from the back of his mind. It was eerie that he had found himself slipping back into old habits and Oikawa’s erratic pace despite not knowing anything of what happened to him. The original hunger of lust filled by feelings never resolved was diminished for now, leaving Iwaizumi’s suspicions to gnaw at his conscious.

He slipped out of the pants and shirt he wore and began to run the shower, praying there was hot water left for him to use. He was in luck, feeling the water turn warm on his back. Tipping his head back, Iwaizumi wet his hair and reached for the shampoo. Oikawa’s singing had returned, his voice still clear despite the water rushing around Iwaizumi’s head.

_Tonight,_ He thought. _I’ll ask about what happened tonight._

When he left the shower, his plate was set, and Oikawa was gone. He didn’t have the energy, or time, to be ticked off as he stuffed his face and grabbed his umbrella to leave.

* * *

 

“ _Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, his nose pressed to Iwaizumi’s forehead as he looked down into the shorter boy’s eyes. “Don’t come to Dad’s funeral tomorrow.” He said quietly, looking away as he spoke_

_Iwaizumi pulled the lanky boy closer as he quivered. “I’ve seen you cry before, Tooru.”_

_“That’s the thing, Hajime. I won’t cry. I’m the only one going, besides the few people who were on the case with him. I need to let this part of me go.” Oikawa replied, voice cracking as tears began to form in the corners of his eyes._

_“And you can’t do that if I’m there.” Iwaizumi said, brow furrowing in pity. Oikawa_ hated _being weak, but couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his face now._

_“Mhm. Because I’ll never be able to let you go. You’re always going to be on my mind.”_

_And before he could rationalize not to, OIkawa brought his lips down against Iwaizumi’s, moving them carefully and cautiously as he felt strong arms hold his shaking form. He tasted like salt and dried blood, and the thought made Oikawa pull away._

_“See you, Tooru.” Iwaizumi said, his voice low as they broke away. Oikawa took a few steps back, smiling halfheartedly as the tears slipped down his cheeks. He said nothing, only walked away._

_Two days later, Oikawa’s childhood home was sold to a new couple and their three year old child. His number was changed, his Facebook account deleted. He no longer had a record at their high school, his university applications were never sent. Iwaizumi saw Tooru for the last time as he walked away, trying hard not to cry as his best friend left him._

* * *

Iwaizumi entered the office, coffee in hand, only to be bombarded by his shrimp-for-a-partner nearly knocking him over in excitement. Nearly dropping his coffee and the laptop he held under his arm, Iwaizumi let out a small yelp of surprise. Sending an apologetic glance to the freckled secretary, he turned to his ginger haired partner.

“Maki and Mattsun got a lead! It’s the name of a local member, probably from the Aoba Hebi clan!” His partner, Hinata, enthused as he rushed to Iwaizumi’s side, paperwork in hand. 

He began to read it as they walked towards the work room. “Maki spent the entire night searching through files to look for any arrests, and they found someone who was involved in the murder of Oikawa Koji seven years ago. He was spotted in a local bar, but otherwise has remained elusive. They want to do more research today on anywhere he could be, because-”

“His boss was killed by Koji, so he killed him. Or at least, he helped kill him.” Iwaizumi said, feeling the sting of knowing the man who’s murder they were discussing currently.

He wondered how Oikawa would feel, knowing he was investigating the group that killed his father. It was odd, too, that Iwaizumi ended up in the same job, leading the investigation on one of the largest Yakuza clans in the eastern part of Japan. Oikawa was hard to read when it came to his father, but Iwaizumi secretly hoped he finds closure when he finds out that Iwaizumi’s the one who is hunting for the leader of the group.

Being the leader of a such a large investigation had it’s perks, one being the large office room where he could meet with the other people on the team. It was a rather large group of people, but, seeing as they were dealing with a group that had the power to kill them all if they felt they needed to, it was necessary.

The team was directed by Iwaizumi, who chose which parts of the clan they wanted to focus on. Hanamaki and Mattsukawa lead research and interviews with the public, as well as tips from citizens who had witnessed suspicious behaviour. Kuroo was in charge of the drug trafficking that the group conducted, and dealt with the majority of the murders they were able to trace back to the group. Him and his partner Daichi usually ended up in tricky situations, and Kuroo had the pleasurable experience to say he had been held at gun point before.

Bokuto did the majority of the undercover work they needed done. While he was usually able to help Kuroo with dealers, there was always one issue they encountered: before he could take in a dealer for questioning, he’d find them, already dead in their home. However, it wasn’t at all useless. Small bits of information he managed to learn, simply by talking around, were often the bits the team needed to get a new lead. Currently, he was inspecting a local strip club for prostitution and connections to the Yakuza, but was having difficulty finding anything that proved they were involved in illicit activity.

Iwaizumi found it hard to believe that these same people were currently building a Jenga tower the same height as him. He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walked in.

“Oh, hey Iwaizumi.” Maki said, peeking out from the side of the tower. 

“Please don’t knock that over. Let’s talk about what you found, then you can go back to making a mess of the room I had to beg the chief for.” He said, voice completely exasperated.

Kuroo and Bokuto made their way over to the table, Hinata trailing behind like a puppy. “Ohoho, the boss is even later than I am? What’s the occasion?” Kuroo said, a shit eating grin plastered across his face. 

“Can someone please go over the case with me before I pull out my hair?” Iwaizumi asked, turning to Daichi with pleading eyes as he deliberately avoided their question.

Daichi opened his laptop, turning it to show Iwaizumi the mugshot of a middle aged man with what looked like a permanent scowl on his face. 

“His name is Ukai Keishin. We started running a search for any faces that match his on video cameras or tapes last night, and Mattsun’s already found him spotted at _Diamond Eyes_ a few months ago.” Daichi told him.

“How do we know he’s still in town?” Iwaizumi pressed.

“I told you when you came in! He was seen in a bar last week!” Hinata exclaimed. Iwaizumi nodded, taking another sip of his coffee and hoping his mind would clear up soon.

“How do we know if he’s even a higher up in the clan? For all we know, he could be a dead end.” Kuroo asked.

“Anybody involved in the murder of Oikawa Koji had to had have some standing in the Yakuza.” Iwaizumi replied, scrolling through the info on Daichi’s laptop.

“What even happened? We barely have any information on his murder, expect for that the leader of the clan was killed as well.” Hinata asked. Everyone shifted their gaze to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi hesitated. The majority of the facts he had learnt weren’t on record, and came from Oikawa, who had witnessed the past investigation firsthand while visiting his father in Tokyo. 

“Lot’s of what I know isn’t on record, and even more is speculation.” He said, hoping they wouldn’t press further. He lifted his eyes to see them still waiting for answers. 

Taking a deep breath, Iwaizumi leaned back into his chair. “The murder took place in early February, in an area of the underground that was under renovations at the time. Oikawa Koji was lured to the area, under two motives that were never fully discovered. He was either investigating suspicious activity or a lead. The other idea, which there's some evidence of, but not enough to be proved, is that they somehow tricked him into thinking they had captured his son.” He said.

“How’d they do that?” Kuroo interjected.

“There’s a few things that make sense. Tor- Oikawa’s son, his phone was pick pocketed from him earlier that day. Some people who were near the incident claimed to have heard high pitched male screams, which leads to the idea that they managed to falsify his screams and use them to try and get Oikawa Koji to cooperate.” Iwaizumi paused, considering his next words. “I’m not sure how plausible this is. They weren’t very close, and although Oikawa Koji did care for his son, I don’t think he’d rush into that situation without backup.”

“How do you know?” Mattsukawa asked.

Iwaizumi sighed, realizing he couldn’t dance around the truth for much longer. “I knew Koji’s son. We were best friends growing up and all through high school. He, at least, didn’t perceive his and his father’s relationship as close. They fought a lot, too.” 

“That explains you calling him by his given name.” Kuroo said. “Continue.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “The rest is very confusing. The leader was there, with seven other people. They had blown the one camera away, the rest weren’t functioning due to the renovations. What we know, for sure, is that Koji killed the leader of the Daishou clan, along with two of the men he brought. The remaining five other’s killed Koji and retreated without either bodies. Ukai was among the five that lived. Any people that they encountered on their way out were killed.”

“Wait, Daishou clan?” Bokuto asked. “Aren’t we dealing with the Aoba Hebi clan?”

“When the leader, Daishou Toshio was leading the clan, it was named after the family name as most Yakuza clans are. After his death, his snake of a son Daishou Suguru would have been handed the leadership.” Kuroo said, spitting out the name Daishou as if it was poison. It was clear he held a grudge against him. “However, in my, er encounters with him, he’s stated the leadership had been decided before his father’s death, and that he wasn’t in charge anymore.” He finished, crossing his leg and taking a sip of his drink.

“That’s why they changed the name, because the leadership wasn’t within the Daishou family anymore.” Iwaizumi told Bokuto.

“You said Ukai was spotted at _Diamond Eyes_? Is that not the club Bokuto’s investigating?” Maki asked. 

Bokuto nodded vigourously. “I never met with the manager. I just talked to two of the dancers. They seemed to be pretty much in charge of what was going on.” He said.

“Ah, so like the house moms?” Mattsun asked.

“Yeah! I mainly talked to Akaashi, but he’s super preceptive. The second time I came in, he asked me if I was a cop. He doesn’t talk as much as the other one, Suga, but he defiantly looked like he was taking care of all the other dancers there.” Bokuto exclaimed.

“What’s a house mom?” Hinata asked, cocking his head to the side slightly,

Iwaizumi ignored him as he spoke. “And you didn’t notice any signs of prostitution?”

“None at all. Either they’re completely clean or they’re doing a great job at hiding it.” Bokuto said.

“Sure you weren’t distracted by the booty, Bo?” Kuroo jeered.

“Nah man, I’m totally professional!” Bokuto said, laughing at Kuroo’s remark.

“No one’s told me what a house mom is yet! I’m confused!” Hinata whined.

“Okay, here’s the plan.” Iwaizumi said, after thinking for a moment. “Bo, you go back to the club and question Akaashi. Hinata, you go along.” Iwaizumi said. Hinata and Bokuto cheered, Bokuto explaining what to expect as Hinata listened, wide eyed.

Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes, leaning back inhis chair as Kuroo and Daichi talked with Maki and Mattsun on the current state of Kuroo’s car.

“He fucking slashed three of the tires, deliberately so I can’t get insurance claim on them. I see this, and my initial reaction is, alright, what else did he decided to screw with? So I prop open the hood, to find out the fucker then proceeded to put sugar in my gas tank, so now the pumps and filters are completely fucked. Then, as a cherry on the cake, my windows are shattered, the interior is shredded, and on my shiny new paint job, the bastard scratched his fucking catch phrase on.” Kuroo spat.

Mattsun snickered, and Hanamaki looked like he was doing everything in his power not to break out into laughter. “And what’s his catchphrase?” Maki said, his tone mischievous.

Kuroo rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what it is. _Absolutely filthy.”_

At this point, even Daichi was laughing in spite of Kuroo’s frustration. Iwaizumi cracked a smile as he unzipped his jacket.

“Which leaves the question that I asked earlier, how does Iwaizumi, ever punctual, arrive after Kuroo, who now relies on public transit?” Hanamaki said, turning to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi groaned, rolling his eyes and he shrugged off his coat, praying to god his shirt wouldn’t move too much and that they’d drop the subject.

The world must’ve had it out for him, because as soon as he finished shrugging off his coat, the purple mark hiding just at his collar revealed itself for the pair of grinning sprites in front of him.

“Of course, you’re late because you got laid on a goddamn Thursday.” Mattsun snickered. 

“Ohoho, who was he?” Kuroo asked. “Did you top?”

“Please shut up before I kick your teeth in.” Iwaizumi groaned. He stood up, walking to the coat hanger to hand up his coat.

“He defiantly topped, he’s walking like he always does.” Maki said. “Was he short? I’d picture you having a thing for short guys.”

Iwaizumi pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the table as he opened his laptop. “Drop it, Maki.” He said.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed, and before he had the reflexes to grab it, Mattsun’s sneaky hands had snatched it from him.

“Let’s see, a new text from Oikawa Tooru?” Kuroo said, before letting his face fall slightly. “Wait a minute. Were we not just talking about this guy?”

Iwaizumi buried his face in his hands, silently asking the universe what he had done to deserve this.

“Aw, you got with you childhood friend! That’s cute, ah what did he call you, Iwa-chan?” Maki said, his tone teasing as he handed Iwaizumi back the phone.

“Fucking drop it, Hanamaki.” Iwaizumi growled, his voice icy and tone final. The room went silent, expect for Bokuto and Hinata’s excited chattering. Hanamaki and Mattsukawa exchanged wary glances, before turning and heading towards the other part of the room where the files were kept. Kuroo left his side of the table, walking to sit down beside Iwaizumi, who was now chugging the rest of his coffee.

“I’m sorry about that. I should’t have pressed.” Kuroo said, his teasing tone from earlier completely gone.

“It’s alright, you didn’t know. It’s just-“ Iwaizumi started, his voice wavering as he spoke. Despite it being years, despite seeing him again that morning, it was still hard to talk about him.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Iwaizumi.” Kuroo said, in that kind of voice that wasn’t soft, but wasn’t harsh either. Iwaizumi nodded, returning to his report.

He only hoped Oikawa had it somewhat better than he did, that he was constantly haunted by his memory, that being with him that night wasn’t keeping him from thinking straight. Iwaizumi knew he was being ignorant in thinking that, the same part that knew Oikawa was probably in the same, if not worse, boat as him. But Iwaizumi pushed those thoughts aside, wallowing in the idea that he was the only one who had to carry these demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! feel free to leave any comments if you want~


	5. sheer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, but here it is!

The rain that drenched the city for the last few days had finally let up, only to lead way to bitter cold winds, unusual for this time of year. The sky wasn’t yet clear, a dull haze shrouded the moon, smog mixing with the clouds creating a low ceiling of grey that hung over the skyline. Hinata fastened his mask, securing it behind his ear as he stepped out of the building with Bokuto. The wind nearly knocked him over as they crossed the street, making their way to where Bokuto had parked his card.

“It’s not far, we could walk in just under a half hour, but it’s kind of cold for that.” Bokuto said as he led Hinata to his car, unlocking one of the doors and stepping in.

Hinata hopped into the passenger’s seat, bringing his feet up to sit on them as Bokuto pulled out the parking space with alarming speed, almost giving Hinata whiplash. Hinata gripped onto the sides of his chair as they sped down the street, whipping around corners. Hinata surged forward as Bokuto slammed onto the brakes, letting out a yelp as he fell back into his chair.

“Are you trying to kill me!?” Hinata exclaimed as they paused at the yellow light.

Bokuto laughed. “You’re just jealous you don’t have the cash for a car to drive like this!” He boasted. Hinata had only had the pleasure of driving with Bokuto once before, but that was with a large group of people, and involved at lot more yelling. 

“How do you not get ticketed?” Hinata asked as the car pulled forward once more, rushing down a less busy lane.

“The trick is to use your blinkers. As long as you use your blinkers, you shoulder be fine!” Bokuto said with a laugh as he pulled to a stop at the side of the road.

The building they had pulled up to had a black brick exterior, with no windows. It was only two stories, fitted with neon lights around the roof. A large sign, in matching flashing lights, read _Diamond Eyes_ in loopy writing, the lights flickering slightly in the evening light. Outside, a long line had formed, two bouncers standing at the doorway checking IDs before people could enter. Even before they had entered the building, the bass of the music throbbed through the otherwise silent night air. Hinata grinned, excitement and nervousness rushing through his veins as he stepped out of the car. 

“Remember,” Bokuto said as they walked to the front of the line, badges already in hand. “Be nice to the dancers there. If you stare too long, give them some cash. Don’t cause a scene if someone is being an ass, they can take care of that themselves. If they ask you to intervene, you can, alright?” Bokuto relayed. Hinata nodded, fumbling with his badge as they approached the bouncers to enter. 

Hinata’s eyes widened as he stepped into the club. Black lights lit the room, sending a blue glow over the sleek metal interior. The music hummed through his ears as he glanced around at the people walking around. There was a main stage, where bright white light shone, illuminating the red head dancing. Towards either side of the open space were two smaller stages, each with dancers performing. Bokuto waved over a waiter, getting them both glasses of extravagant drinks.

“Whoa.” Hinata said, turning his head to take in the sight before him. “So who are we looking for?” 

“I don’t see either of them. Look for silver hair, or the prettiest person you’ve ever seen.” Bokuto said, peering overtop of the heads of people watching the dancers. It was hard to pick out any hair colour in the lilac lighting, but he was able to pick out a tall figure whose slivery white hair stood above everyone else.

“Him?” Hinata asked, pointing in the direction of the tall one who had passed them to mingle with people at the bar.

“Nah, Suga-san is a lot shorter. C’mon, let’s ask where one of them is, Suga might be working in the back tonight.” Bokuto said. They approached the silver haired boy, and Bokuto tapped on his shoulder.

If he looked tall from a distance, it was nothing compare to his height up close. Hinata felt like a dwarf standing in front of him, craning his neck to look him in the eyes. His features, oddly western, were pulled into what might have supposed to have been a seductive smirk, but instead came off as if he was finding a sadistic kind of pleasure in the awkward atmosphere around them. Hinata straightened his back, trying in vain to make himself seem somewhat taller as the taller spoke.

“Well hello there, babes, I’m Lev, what do you need?” He said, leaning his arm onto a barstool behind him and promptly stumbling from lack of balance. Hinata was having a really hard time staying serious.

“We’re with the Tokyo Investigative Task Force.” Bokuto said, giggling slightly as Lev regained his balance. 

“We’re looking fro Akaashi or Suga.” Hinata said.

“Hm, short-stuff? Am I not enough for you boys?” Lev said, his face splitting into a grin. Hinata was suddenly thankful for the dimly lit lights, face flushing red. Bokuto broke out into laughter beside him, and if Hinata wasn’t so offended at the short jokes and sexual innuendos, he would hit him.

“We’re here on business.” Hinata rushed to saw, stumbling over his words. “Where are they?”

“Alrighty, baby-cakes.” He purred. “Akaashi is in the back room, and I think Suga is booked-” He was suddenly cut off by another voice, doubling over as he was smacked from behind. The man behind him, wearing ridiculously tall heels, pushed him out of the way.

“Lev!” He shouted. “Get back to work!” He said sending him off. Hinata exchanged glances with Bokuto, who simply shrugged with a grin.

“I’m sorry, he’s new.” The man said, looking rather pissed off. “I’m Yaku, and Lev is an idiot. Suga-san is off tonight, but Akaashi is just in the back. I’ll take you now.” He said, turning on his heel and beckoning them forward.

“I thought he said Suga was booked?” Hinata inquired, only to feel a kick in his behind. He shot a glance to Bokuto, who held a finger to his lips and lead him towards the back room.

Pushing through the many bodies, they made their ways to a door marked _Employees only,_ and Yaku pushed it open, holding it open as Bokuto and Hinata. Once they stepped in, he closed it and left.

“What was that?” Hinata exclaimed, grumbling as he rubbed his backside. “That hurt!”

“Ah, but you see, if you want to be a good undercover cop, you can’t go asking questions like that! It'll give you away!” Bokuto said, his voice filled with confidence.

“Bokuto-san, I knew you were a cop the second you stepped in.”A voice said. Hinata whipped his head around to see a slender boy, with black wavy hair and porcelain skin walk in from another room. He was draped in sheer pink flowing fabrics that skimmed the ground as he walked, his heels clicking against the ground softly as he approached.

_Oh,_ Hinata thought, _So this is what Bokuto meant by the pretty one._

Akaashi looked as if he stepped out of an Italian fashion magazine, from his [haunting outfit, ](https://instagram.com/p/BFWZgFpyScc/)to his slender form and feminine features. His hands, freshly manicured, by the looks of it, were wrapped around a chute of champagne, of all things. His eyes were half lidded, looking almost bored with the situation, in a smug kind of way.

Hinata looked over to see Bokuto flushed red, quite literally making heart eyes as Akaashi walked towards them.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto stuttered. “You had to tell the rookie?”

Hinata giggled, taking a sip of his drink. “You told us all at the meeting that you blew your cover on the second day.” He said, looking over at Akaashi, who had cracked a smile.

Bokuto’s face fell, his gun instantly wiped off his face. Hinata looked from him to Akaashi, instantly wondering if he said something wrong.

Akaashi walked past them, taking a seat on one of the makeup counters. “If it makes you feel better, Bokuto-san, no one else was able to figure it out.” He said. Bokuto perked up instantly, a small smile returning.

“So, what brings you here? I’m assuming this isn’t just a boys night out.” Akaashi asked.

“Oh.” Bokuto said, remembering the reason they had came. He rifled through his coat, pulling out a few photographs. “We’re actually here about a man that was seen entering here. Can you say if you recognize him?” Bokuto asked, handing him the photograph. 

Akaashi narrowed his eyes as he looked at the photograph, his lip putting slightly as he examined the man. “Actually,” He said. “I know him. He’s the manager and owner, but I haven’t seen him in a few months.”

Hinata’s eyes widened as Bokuto spoke. “But how does that work? If he’s never here, how are you even paying rent? Handling paycheques?” Bokuto asked.

“Suga and I have to do it ourselves.” Akaashi responded.

“So even though you do everything andhe isn’t profiting, he’s written up as owner and manger?“ Bokuto asked.

“Oh no.” Akaashi said. “He still gets money. The first time he left for awhile, we just divided his paycheque evenly out amongst everyone, thinking he skipped town. When he eventually came back, he was pissed. We just keep what he would be earning in a safe for whenever he decides to come back again.”

“Can he even do that?” Hinata asked, surprised.

Akaashi shrugged. “I guess so. Suga and I took it upon ourselves to make sure the place keeps running, that way we aren’t all out of a job.” He said. 

Akaashi paused, thinking before he spoke again. “Why are you looking for him? Does it have to do with the fact that you think we’re involved with prostitution? Because my stance is the same, you can continue to visit, we don’t have anything to hide.”

Hinata choked on his drink, not expecting Akaashi to be so blunt. Bokuto, on the other hand, wasn’t phased, and had already begun to reply.

“Akaashi, I wouldn’t suspect you if it wasn’t my job! But it really has nothing to do with that, it has to do with his stance in the Yakuza. I’m assuming you know what that is?” He said.

Akaashi’s eyes widened. “Are we safe here?” He said, his voice lowering.

“For your own sake, if or when he comes back, you shouldn’t mention we came.” Bokuto said, his usual joking tone forgotten. “But don’t worry! We’ll keep you safe!” He finished, his voice lighthearted once again.

Akaashi nodded, looking skeptical. “Is that all?” He asked, standing up.

Bokuto shook his head. “We’ll be leaving now! See you!” He said, bouncing towards the door.

“Thank you.” Hinata said, taking the picture back from Akaashi.

“You’re welcome.” He replied. “I never got your name?” 

“Hinata!” He said. “Thank you again!” 

Hinata rushed out of the room meeting up with Bokuto. Once they made their way towards the front of the club, Hinata looked over at Bokuto and grinned.

“You like him, don’t you?” He asked.

“I do not! I just think he’s pretty. It’s his _job_ to be pretty, after all.” He said defensively. “I’m gonna stay and look around more, you can go home.”

Hinata rolled his eyes, but smiled as he exited the club and went to hail a taxi.

* * *

Akaashi walked back into the small office space, considering throwing the glass in his hand at the wall if it wasn’t for the mess it’d make. He took a deep breath, smoothing the wrinkles in his gown as he walked over to where Kageyama and Kenma were sitting.

Kenma glanced up from his phone as Akaashi took a seat in one of the chairs surrounding the desk, grabbing the bottle of champagne and refilling his glass without saying a word. Kageyama, too awkward to say anything, continued to nurse his as he watched Akaashi drink away.

Akaashi was a planner. He always had been. Nothing he ever did was impulsive, he hated surprises, and he had a terrible habit of over-analyzing everything, which helped him stay three steps ahead of everyone around him. He knew his owner was going to get them into trouble eventually, he just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Taking another gulp of his drink, Akaashi crossed his legs and furrowed his brow. Although not at first glance, Bokuto was extremely smart, and had an incredible sense of instinct that Akaashi knew was one of the reasons he, or the rest of his team, was able to start piecing this together.

“Do you think,” Akaashi said, finally speaking up and drawing the other two’s eyes to him. “That if I gave Oikawa-san a blow job he’d stop getting pissed off at me for having to call him in on this cop?” He asked, swirling the remaining few drops of his drink around lazily.

Kageyama flushed red, obviously taking his deadpanned joke seriously, while Kenma simply shrugged. “Tooru isn’t pissed off with you as much as he is with the task force, Keiji. What is it this time?”

“They linked Ukai to the Yakuza, and to us. I couldn’t lie about it, theres too many variables against me. So now we’re playing damsel in distress as this asshole causes more trouble than he’s worth.” Akaashi said. “They’ve got a new cop, too. Red head, named Hinata.”

Kageyama’s head instantly perked up at the sound of Hinata’s name. Akaashi raised an eyebrow at the sudden reaction, but didn’t question it as he debated pouring another glass for himself. Kenma, catching his gaze, swiped the bottle and went to return it to the fridge. Akaashi sighed and leaned back into his chair. So much for drinking his issues away. Sighing, he stood up.

“Someone tell Oikawa that we need to have a meeting tomorrow, a serious one. I’m on soon, you can leave whenever, I’ll be working the rest of the night.” Akaashi said, placing his drink on the desk.

“He’s going to love that.” Kenma said, voice completely apathetic. “He’s on a date now, but I’ll text him when I get home.” Kenma answered as he stood, not looking from his phone as he left the room, Kageyama trailing behind with a confused expression on his face. 

Akaashi walked towards a dressing room mirror, inspecting his face for fixable imperfections. He was slightly buzzed, not tipsy enough to affect his movements, and certainly not anywhere close to drunkenness. He held his liquor ridiculously well, and if he had to deal with a night like the one he was currently having, a glass of champagne on his part was well deserved. 

He made his way out of the dressing room, walking towards the main stage and sending Yaku a sly smile as he walked up the stairs behind the black curtain and waited for the other dancer to finish his performance. Yaku was ridiculously strong for his height and build, and had the ability to have a lean frame and still be able to hoist himself up onto a pole and contort his body into ridiculous positions. His performances were usually faster than Akaashi’s, his style bold and assertive.

Akaashi smirked as he fixed the robe he wore, loosening the tie at the front. Performing was his favourite part of the job. As he heard the music fade, and the applause and hollers of customers grew, Akaashi found himself sinking deeper and deeper into the zone. Yaku walked out from the slit in the curtain, sending him a bright smile as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. 

The [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfM_PJDk0r8) changed, the face pace beats slowing to make way for heavy bass synths as Akaashi waited for his music to start. He heard the familiar sounds of piano filling the room as he pushed open the curtains, slowly walking out, as the music began. He walked on stage, slowly, teasingly, only letting his feet touch the ground in front of him on the off beats of the piano. His eyes were closed, and he had raised a hand over his head as he ran the other down his arm. The lights were still only black light and glow stage lighting, his face only illuminated by the fuchsia colours. He could faintly hear hollers and whistles, but he waited for the verse to pick up, for his feet to reach front centre of the stage, to freeze, and snap his eyes open, bright lights flicking on to illuminate his features.

Akaashi spread his legs, running his hands over his thighs as he squatted agonizingly slow, his dressing gown parting to reveal his lace undergarments. He brought his hand dangerously close to his crotch as he straightened up. Running a hand over his collar bones, he snagged his fingertips on the string tying the gown shut and harshly tugged, letting it slide off his shoulders and pool at his shoulders as he walked towards the pole.

Pulling the flowing gown to the other side of his hip, Akaashi bent over torturously slowly, keeping eye contact with the crowd as he staggered his feet and bit his lip as he let one hand leave the pole and wander down his side, to the curve of his lace clad ass. Suddenly, with a single sharp movement, he used the arm still wrapped around the pole to pull his body flush against the pole. Swinging the leg opposite to the crowd up against the pole, he wrapped it around and let go of the post, leaning back, arching and letting his back touch his leg as slowly rotated around the pole. 

Bringing his hands up to the height of his foot, Akaashi grasped the pole with two hands and hoisted his body upwards, using rotating momentum to once again wrap his leg around the pole, completely upside down. As his momentum slowed, he straightened his body and straddled the pole, sliding down on one leg, the other straightened to meet the ground.

He raised an eyebrow, licking his lips as he stared into the crowd. Growing tired of the gown, he reached a hand behind his neck and pulled it off in a single swift motion, earning an enthusiastic response from the crowd. Taking a single step forward, running a hand down his stomach and another up his chest, he waited for the familiar intensity of the chorus to drop to his knees.

Spreading his legs,he ran a hand down to cup his crotch, pulling his best false orgasm face as he sank down fully. Suddenly, he snatched his legs together, opening his eyes and returning to his smug expression as he repeated the motion, lowering himself to the ground and snatching his legs back together, only to lower and grind against the floor again. 

As he fell back with his legs spread again, Akaashi sent them behind him, sending his body forward to crawl on all fours towards the left side of the stage, making general eye contact with the front row as he stalked forward. Akaashi earned the majority of his money doing floor work, pulling his body up right in front of someone, crossing his ankles behind his back to show off his entire waist and hips, only to slid back onto one leg, raising the other above his head and turning to roll into his splits. He stood, moving towards the right to lean down over one leg, looking at the crowd of hungry expressions with bedroom eyes as he slid down onto his ass, leaning back onto his elbows as he spread his legs again.

He sat up abruptly, fighting the head rush as he seductively licked his fingers, running them down his chest, down to his hips, and slipping a hand into his lace panties just as the song finished, the last few chords ringing out as he felt money being stuffed into the strap of his shoe.

And then the song was over, and he was standing, collecting the money that had slipped from his garter and other places of his costume and stuffing them back into the folds of the little he wore, picking up his dressing gown as he swung his hips and walked back through the curtain, listening to the jeers and screams of the audience as he walked offstage.

Akaashi grinned to himself. No, his style wasn’t face paced and dancey like Yaku’s, but it was taunting and lewd, teasing people the point of insanity then shoving what the so desperately wanted into their faces as they could barely process what was happening. It was dirty, cruel, and downright pornographic, but Akaashi very well knew it sold.

Little did Akaashi know, Bokuto had seen the entire thing. Watching from a corner of the room, head down and observing the entire routine, Bokuto continued making mental notes. On one hand, he felt a pang inside his stomach as he watched Akaashi finish his performance. What he had done, though it could probably pass as legal, was so incredibly risky and suspicious that it made him want to scream. _Maybe my judgement is clouded,_ He thought as he walked to his car. _Anyone would find it hard to think after watching something like that._ He felt guilty for even wanting to suspect Akaashi, something he couldn't understand why.

Meanwhile, Akaashi walked off stage only to hear the unmistakeable sound of Lev being yelled at.

“You fucking idiot!” Yaku yelled as he looked up to Lev. “You have one job, look out for the cop, and you _bail_?”

Akaashi walked over slowly, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. Lev sputtered as Yaku continued scolding him.

“You were supposed to go tell Akaashi if he stayed, and instead where do I find you? Giving some idiot, who probably  didn't pay, a blowjob in a private dance room!” He screeched.

Akaashi, who was now standing adjacent to Yaku, narrowed his eyes. Slipping his dressing gown on, he pushed right in front of Lev, grabbing his collar and throwing him to the ground. Lev yelped in surprise as Akaashi spoke.

“Lev, have you heard of The Three?” He asked, crouching down beside Lev, who’s lanky limbs were splayed on the floor. 

Lev looked up at Akaashi, staring into his icy glare as Akaashi loomed over. “I don’t control them, but let me tell you this: their boss is my boss, and he is not quite as forgiving as I am. If that cop were to have caught you, you would’ve gotten to meet The Three firsthand, and not over an expensive bottle of champagne either.” He said, voice cool and low. 

The room went silent, and Akaashi watched as Lev’s smug expression faded from his face as his eyes widened. The chaos had subdued, and for a moment, everything was still.

The moment was broke by a cough from Yaku, who, despite Akaashi’s intimidating glare, still dared to speak.

“Everyone has filed out by now. We were told to close early today.” Yaku said, his usually commanding tone faltering. Akaashi furrowed his brow as he stood up, leaving Lev bewildered on the floor.

“By who, may I ask?” Akaashi asked, narrowing his eyes.

Suddenly, there was an arm draped around his shoulder, and another around his waist.A heavy head nestled itself between his neck, breath heavy and low. The man smelt like cigarette smoke and old cars, and his hands felt like fire on Akaashi’s cool skin.

“By me.” The man said, a devilish grin covering his face. Ukai Keishin began running his hands down Akaashi’s body, touching the sheer fabric of his gown. 

“Oh baby, you didn’t seriously think I was gone for good?” He asked. Akaashi shuddered, doing his best not to vomit. He had spent years practicing how to deal with the sneaky hands of the owner, the way they’d travel to his dancer’s skin when he thought no one cared to notice, the way they’d dance on top of beer bottles.

“The money is in the safe, where it always is, Ukai-san.” Akaashi said through gritted teeth. The other dancers had made their way backstage, doing their best not to look to disturbed at the sight in front of them. Some had endured the process much longer than others, and even for the ones who had seen it before, it was hard to stomach the way Ukai whispered his orders into Akaashi’s ears. Lev had dropped his usual demeanour entirely, almost on the verge of tears as he watched Ukai pull out a gun and bring it to the back of Akaashi’s head.

“You know the drill, lover boy.” He said, his voice smug. “Lead the way.” 

Akaashi didn’t know if he was proud or disturbed at his desensitization to the process. He walked, posture respectful, not a single foot shaking as he went towards the back of the room where a cabinet resided. He began to slowly bend down, the gun following him as he reached towards the bottom door, sealed with a lock. With careful hands, he unlocked the safe, hearing the familiar _click_ as it swung open.

Akaashi was shoved out of the way as Ukai reached in and grabbed the money, looked at the wads with a disgusted eye. He shoved it into his bag and turned to Akaashi, a sneer already forming on his face.

“Is this it?” He asked, anger seeping in his words.

“Along with what was transferred to your bank account, yes.” Akaashi responded, his head down.

Ukai scoffed. “That’s what you get for selling this place as more of a strip club than a brothel.” He fumed. “From now on you can drop the fucking facade. I don’t care if you are bending over the bar out in the open, as long as the cash flows.”

“You need to run this by the boss.” Akaashi spat.

Ukai laughed. “Oh, Keiji. That pretty boy profits off of this institution, and I profit off of you all. He doesn’t care what I do as long as it earns him the pocket money needed to uphold the goddamn luxurious life he loves.” He sneered.

Ukai suddenly stood, straightening his back. He pulled out a cigarette, putting it between his teeth as he fumbled for a lighter.

“We’re leaving now.” He said, managing to light it. He blew smoke into Akaashi’s face as he nodded towards Yaku, who was shamefully standing against the wall. Akaashi sent him a pitiful glance, mouthing _I’m sorry_ as Yaku shrugged.

_He pays well enough_ , Yaku mouthed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> due to the upcoming kyluxbigbang that im apart of, updates may be slow because im in the process of nitpicking my story!!! therefore, snow in may updates may be slow until june!!!!


	6. embroidery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres gonna be a time skip after this chapter! up until now, this has been practically an introduction. enjoy~

Oikawa mentally cursed Kenma for choosing to go drink with Kageyama and Akaashi at his club instead of providing him with a _very important_ opinion on his outfit for his date. Oikawa looked at the two shirts he had laid out on his bed: an off white button down with embroidered red and pink roses, or a three quarter length sleeve midnight blue button down. He bit his lip, biting back a groan. Kenma was always frank with him when it came to outfit decisions, and at this point, there was no one else Oikawa would rather have tell him what to wear. 

_Kenma doesn't even like clubs,_ Oikawa thought bitterly as he grabbed the flowery shirt, slipping his arms through the sleeves and beginning to button it up. He found his hands shaking slightly, the buttons slipping out of his slender fingers as he attempted to fix his collar. Marks that had begun to turn a deep brown peeked out from the collar, hinting at what still lingered in the back of Oikawa's mind 

Tooru cursed himself as he tucked the shirt into his pants. The situation couldn't have been more destined to be fucked. Iwaizumi wasn't stupid, and neither was Oikawa: he knew Hajime would see through his lies if they weren't carefully constructed. 

He couldn't just up and leave, either, even if he wanted to. The first time in years meeting again, and they end up taking out pent up emotions on each other. _We start anew today,_ Oikawa reminded himself. _We go out for dinner, and we catch up like normal people._

The lingering fear in his stomach refused to go away as he looked in the mirror, brushing his hair and trying to avoid his own eyes as he did so. As much as he wanted to have Iwaizumi back into his life, Oikawa knew it was dangerous. The chances of Hajime being used as leverage, or hostage over him was high, and Oikawa hated himself for wanting to see him despite the fact. Reaching upwards, he opened the medicine cabinet and grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen for the headache that had begun to pound in the back of his head. Oikawa groaned: he thought he’d have a few more days before the side effects of being pulled off medication would show.

His phone buzzed, bringing him back to the moment. Oikawa grabbed it off the counter and looked at the message, smiling at the text.

**_iwaizumi: what floor are you even on_ **

**_oikawa: the top one ✧*｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*｡_ **

**_iwaizumi: fuck off_ **

**_iwaizumi: you’re serious aren't you_ **

Oikawa giggled as he put the phone into his back pocket, taking a final look at his appearance in the mirror before leaving the washroom. He grabbed his wallet, and walked out to the main living area where he sat on the arm of the sofa. His fingers made their way to the cuticles of the opposite hand, picking away at the skin next to the nail and peeling it slightly. Oikawa bounced his foot, glancing towards the door as he waited, rather impatiently for Iwaizumi to knock.

As if on cue, he heard a loud rap on the door, causing Oikawa to leap embarrassingly quickly to his feet as he made his way towards the door. Taking a deep breath, he pulled open the door to see Iwaizumi, his permanent scowl fading for a moment as his eyes flicked over Oikawa’s body before returning.

Oikawa made a conscious effort to shut his mouth to keep from drooling at the sight of Iwaizumi in front of his. Clad in grey pants, he wore a black button down with even darker black roses etched onto the likely silk fabric. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he had a tan coat over one arm.

“You look really nice, Hajime.” Oikawa said, his usual teasing tone gone as he looked Iwaizumi up and down. 

Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly at the compliment. “Thank you.” He responded.

“Although,” Oikawa continued, “I think I win best dressed.” He claimed, his voice oozing arrogance. 

Iwaizumi’s eye roll was practically audible. “Shut up, Trashkawa. Get a coat, it’s cold out.” He snapped.

Oikawa laughed, airy and carefree as he snatched a red leather jacket from the coat rack beside the door. Stepping out, he turned and closed it, fishing a key from his back pocket and locking the door behind him. When he turned back to Iwaizumi, he saw the other extending an arm as if to say _lead the way._

They stepped into the elevator, and Oikawa leaned over Iwaizumi to plant a kiss on his cheek. Surprised, the shorter froze long enough for Oikawa to release a giggle, but not long enough to prevent him from kicking Oikawa in the shin.

“Rude, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa teased, biting his tongue as he grinned.

“Call me that one more time, I dare you.”

The elevator ride down forty floors was long, and filled with soft conversation. Questions hastily skipped over the day before, _Are you still working out?_ (Yes.) _Do you still watch those alien films?_ (Of course.) All reminiscing what had been, the unsteady past that lay behind them. There were some things left hanging in the air, the sticky kinds of question that can’t be answered in fancy apartment elevators.

Somehow, Oikawa managed to brush his hand against Hajime’s, intertwining their hands as they finally stepped out of the elevator and made their way to Iwaizumi’s car. The air, for the first time in days, was still, and the clouds had cleared slightly to reveal the starry sky. Oikawa let go of Iwaizumi’s hand as he stepped into the car and buckled up.

“So,” Oikawa asked, his tone playful. “Where will be going? You neglected to tell me.”

Iwaizumi huffed out a sigh as he rolled his eyes at Oikawa’s tone. “You’ll see.”

Oikawa let out a laugh, shaking his head as he leant onto the dash.

“What’re you doing these days?” Iwaizumi instead asked.

“I got all of dad’s inheritance, so I just started investing in companies and sold a share ridiculously high. It’s interesting, and you get a lot out of it.” Oikawa said, lying flawlessly. The words, repeated so often, slipping off his tongue as if they were the truth.

“That explains the modest apartment.” Iwaizumi replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Oikawa laughed again, leaning back into his seat. “When in Rome, Iwa-chan.”

The pair fell into comfortable silence as Oikawa hummed to the music playing in the car. Iwaizumi bit his lip, wondering the most appropriate way to ask about what had happened the night he had disappeared. Iwaizumi took a breath, preparing to ask, when his phone went off, the shrill ringtone blaring through the car.

Iwaizumi groaned. “It’s work, I have to answer, it’ll be quick, I promise.” He said pressing _answer_ on the car’s bluetooth. 

Oikawa mouthed _no problem_ as the voice on the other line began to speak.

“I’m texting you the address of a raid, you need to show.” The voice Iwaizumi recognized as Hanamaki, said. His voice held none of it’s usual joking tone.

_“What?”_ Iwaizumi exclaimed as Oikawa did his best to not appear to be listening intently at the mention of a raid. 

“It’s not ours, it’s Shiratorizawa, but they’ve been known to steal our guy’s drugs, and we found a whole shit ton.” Hanamaki replied. Oikawa rolled his eyes at the mention of the gang, before realizing it was them who stole the drugs, and that Daishou and Tsukishima were currently there retrieving them. He cursed internally.

“And why do we need to be there?” Iwaizumi asked, exasperated.

“Because,” Hanamaki said, “The entire team of first responders were killed two men.”

Iwaizumi swore under his breath, swerving the car and turning around. Oikawa handed him his phone to show him the address and Iwaizumi changed course.

Oikawa felt like screaming internally. If Iwaizumi was what he thought he was, he was defiantly in for trouble. He had the saving grace of knowing that Daishou and Tsukishima completed the job, but the fear of finding out what Iwaizumi’s connection to all of this was.

He had three ideas currently:

Idea one: Iwaizumi was a detective.

Idea two: Iwaizumi was apart of another gang.

Or, the most fruitful: Oikawa was dreaming.

The car lurched as Iwaizumi responded. “Let me guess, the two guys are ours.”

“Yep. And get this, one of them was Daishou. He did the message thing, again.” Hanamakisaid, confirming Iwaizumi’s suspicions, and finalizing Oikawa’s.

Oikawa was sure that if he wasn’t in a car, he’d scream on the top of his lungs. _Of course_ the one person he cared the most about was a detective, and _of course_ he was investigating his clan, and _of fucking course_ he had to find out in the middle of their date. Pushing down the bubbling fear in his stomach, he did his best to act as a normal citizen as Iwaizumi ended the call.

Iwaizumi groaned, pulling up to a red light and hitting his head against the wheel. “I am so sorry, Oikawa.” He said, lifting his head and turning to the boy beside him. “This is so important, we’re gonna have to go a lot later tonight, or another day.”

“I don’t mind tagging along on your fancy detective work, Iwaizumi, don’t worry.” Oikawa said, the worry bubbling up into his chest. “We can get coffee after you’re done.”

Iwaizumi thanked him, but Oikawa was already raking his mind of answers to the question that had begun to swarm it. 

He knew some things, at least. For one, Iwaizumi couldn’t know his identity at this point, and that Tsukishima, and possibly, Kageyama, are still unknown to his team. Second, seeing as he is being informed on issues rather than being the informant, Iwaizumi is probably is some position of power. That means that, possibly, they are on level playing field at opposite ends. This, technically speaking, means Oikawa is completely and utterly screwed. 

Oikawa bit back another screech of frustration as questions began to swirl. The first, being, how much does he know about his father’s death, and how easily will he be able to trace it back to him? Does the information Iwaizumi knows about Tooru and his father, not to mention his disappearance after the funeral, make him a suspect already?

_No,_ Oikawa reasoned, _Detectives in their right mind don’t go banging their suspects._ He pushed the lingering idea that he hasn’t yet to suspect him, but probably will. Oikawa didn’t even want to think about having to cut Iwaizumi off again.

Looking over to Iwaizumi, he saw the concentration set into the man’s features. It was the same look he got watching action movies and studying, only aged with worry. Oikawa reached out and grabbed one of his hands, rubbing circles on his palm. There was a plus side for Oikawa, at least. He could scope out Shiratorizawa.

Shiratorizawa was a large gang, most notably known for being thieves and pulling off elaborate heists. Although not nearly as big, dangerous, and organized as a Yakuza clan such as Aoba Hebi, they still posed a threat, having a personal grudge against Oikawa. Not to mention, three members knew of Oikawa’s identity. That, in itself, was ridiculously dangerous.

Pulling into the parking lot of an old looking motel, the car halted. 

“Do you want to come with me? You love all those mystery things, maybe you can guess the killer.” Iwaizumi said, the seriousness of the beginning of the sentence wearing off slightly as he prodded at Oikawa. Oikawa nodded, and together, they stepped out of the car.

“Maybe it was done by aliens, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa whispered

“No.”

“Should I call you Scully-chan then?”

“No, shittykawa.”

“That’s Mulder-san to you!”

Their bickering was interupted by a pair sauntering up to them. One, a strawberry blonde, and the other, that could probably best be described as tall, dark and handsome with defined brows, made a beeline for Iwaizumi. Maki and Mattsun grinned knowingly at Oikawa.

“I’m Hanamaki, he’s Mattsun, and we’ve heard a lot about you.” Maki said. Mattsun grinned, and Oikawa felt slightly threatened as they began to interrupted Iwaizumi. 

Oikawa took a moment to scan the area. The motel was small, with boarded up windows and a dead neon sign, missing a few letters. The pavement was cracked, and even the outside was splattered with blood. He resisted rolling his eyes at Daishou’s overdramatic handiwork. There was no doubt Tsukishima did the same.

Surprisingly, all four of them were let past the caution tape, despite Oikawa not displaying a badge.

“Why’d they let you in without a fuss?” Hanamaki asked Oikawa.

“Probably because Iwaizumi is doing his scary face right now.” Mattsun answered for him. Oikawa giggled, looking over to Iwaizumi who furrowed his brow and scowled at the three of them.

“Smarten up. Where the hell is Daichi? Don’t tell me he didn’t have to come.” Iwaizumi said with a groan as he took a step back and looked at the completely open interior. Where walls of multiple rooms once where, debris only remain, only some of the original framing remaining intact.

“Please tell me this blood is Daishou’s.” A voice said from behind them, as if on cue. Kuroo appeared, looking perpetually annoyed as he dragged his shoe, leaving a trail of blood in it’s wake. “I was on an actual date before you called, Mattsun, I want to see his skull.”

“You too?” Iwaizumi grumbled as Oikawa smoothly introduced himself to Kuroo.

“Jesus, is public transport that bad that you’re like, half an hour late?” Maki teased.

Something clicked in Oikawa’s mind, and he had to use every ounce of willpower to not burst out laughing, because this was the detective who’s car was trashed by Daishou. 

“Can we do an actual investigation now?” Iwaizumi said. Everyone snapped out of their light hearted mood, and they suddenly got down to business.

“So,” Hanamaki said, “A total of eleven first responders, dead. Six by multiple stab wounds, and the rest by bullet. They crashed midway through the raid, and this,” Hanamaki gestured to the bag he was carrying, “Is all the drugs they left. Can you analyze this by sight, Kuroo?” Hanamaki asked. 

Oikawa peered at the bag. It was still in it’s original packaging, sealed with a snake design. Oikawa bit his tongue, curious to see the skill of what he assumed what the leader of the drug team for this unit.

Kuroo took the bag from Hanamaki, bouncing it in his hand and looking at the pink pills it held.

“Ecstasy.” He confirmed, handing it to Hanamaki. “About five hundred grams, by the looksof it.” 

Oikawa raised his eyebrows in surprise. Kuroo was good, and the fact that a single glance at the bag could let him tell it’s contents meant he had experience. He looked over to where Iwaizumi was examining a blood splatter on the wall. The body lay, slouched against the wall, blood stains on his forehead. Oikawa wandered over to him, the rest in tow.

Iwaizumi bit his lip as his eyes scanned the wall. “Whoever was shooting must’ve had amazing skill.”

“Why do you say that?” Mattsun asked.

“Look at the foot prints.” Iwaizumi said, motioning to the entrance, where, in the dust, a stationary pair of prints lay. “He would’ve be standing at that spot, and landed a dead on headshot to the victim.”

“They could’ve been the only one firing.” Iwaizumi proposed, taking a few steps back. “All of the victims are linear to his standing spot, even a few of the ones killed by Daishou, so he must’ve crippled them first.”

Maki furrowed his brow. “That’s unlikely. He’d need to have insane skills. Someone who has experience.”

“Trained from a young age?” Kuroo suggested. Iwaizumi nodded.

“There could have been a sniper.” Mattsun reasoned.

“Yeah, but if we go with this theory it narrows our search.” Iwaizumi argued.

Oikawa rolled his eyes at the argument before him. It seemed petty, the argument, as he already knew the answers. Kuroo caught the movement, and narrowed his eyes at Oikawa.

“Oho? You think you’re smart?” Kuroo jested.

OIkawa sighed. “Of course it’s not a sniper, look at the angle. This guy’s gotta be about two hundred centimetres at full height, and the blood splatter is facing upwards. That means the shooter is under that height. A sniper couldn’t have had that effect, plus this building hasn't got any rafters the shoot from.” Oikawa replied, his voice nonchalant as he looked around. Although he was getting intel on the investigative squad, he was turning up short on any info on Shiratorizawa. Oikawa was snapped out of his thoughts as he realized that all four of them were staring at him. Iwaizumi smirked as the rest of them stared dumbfounded. Oikawa mentally cursed himself for giving them that, but he knew they’d deduce it out soon enough.

“Well, he’s observant, I see why you keep him.” Mattsun said.

Once the investigation ended, Oikawa and Iwaizumi piled back into the car. Oikawa yawned as they pulled out of the motel parking and headed onto the highway.

“I’ll drop you off back at your place, it’s late.” Iwaizumi said.

OIkawa let out a whine. “I wanna stay with you.” He said, refusing to think about the fact that that was, in fact, a terrible idea.

Iwaizumi sighed. “You can come to mine, but I’m gonna have to leave again in the morning.”

Oikawa hummed, taking Iwaizumi’s hand in his. “Thank you,” He replied softly, kissing Iwaizumi’s knuckles, causing him to blush.

* * *

Kenma Kozume, after a whooping week of knowing him, somehow ended up with Kuroo in his flat, sprawled out on his couch, petting his cat as he watched Kenma play video games. He had completely  _no_ idea what stuck the messy haired man to have the desire to snuggle his over affectionate cat and do nothing in the flat of a practically stranger, but Kenma couldn’t find the energy to argue.

Maybe it was his fault in letting his fingers hover over Kuroo’s contact one too many times, or maybe it was the fact that he informed the elder that he had a cat, and Kuroo demanded to come over. Either way, it couldn’t change the fact that in those short five days, Kenma found himself texting Kuroo more than any other person he knew. 

It started with simple _hellos_ , which lead way to _what are you doing_ , which lead way to the fact that Kuroo found Kenma’s gaming habit ridiculously interesting, and that Kuroo also enjoyed the fact that Kenma could keep up with his chemistry ramblings.

If only he knew that the only reason Kenma understood was because he literally made drugs for a living.

“I wish I had a cat. They’re like personal-destress machines.” Kuroo said, pulling the cat closer to his face and nuzzling it. Kenma’s cat, a lazy grey striped stray, mewed as Kuroo placed her on his shoulders. Her name was Mimzy, and she instantly loved Kuroo the moment they met.

“Then get one.” Kenma said, eyes fixated on the television screen.

“I can’t, my hours at work are ridiculous enough, I’d never see her.” He say, groaning. Mimzy meowed in response. “This case might just be the death of me.”

“Suppose you can’t say anything about it, right?” Kenma asked. He knew he shouldn't press, but Kenma’s curiosity got the best of him. 

Kuroo sighed, taking Mimzy back into his arms as he replied. “I can tell you the basics, pretty much. I’m investigating a drug lab thats apart of this Yakuza clan. We don’t have identities, or a location, but we have a lead, so we should go back to playing chase again.” He answered. Kenma noticed the tired tones in his voice, the heaviness in his limbs, and paused his game. 

Standing up, he paused his game and walked towards the kitchen. Kuroo raised an eyebrow in surprise at Kenma’s sudden movement, and yelped slightly as Mimzy jumped from his embrace and went to trail after Kenma’s heels. Kenma opened the cupboards, pulling out a container of tea leaves and the kettle, busying his hands with making tea for Kuroo.

Kuroo smiled as he watched Kenma walk around the corner into the kitchen. He leaned back into Kenma’s soft couch, sinking into the cushions as he watched the phone, Kenma’s, light up and buzz on the coffee table. He ignored it, closing his eyes.

Kuroo didn’t know exactly why he found himself being drawn to Kenma. The boy didn’t talk much, and was always hesitant to speak when he did. His eyes, when not fixated on a game, often lay positioned towards his feet. Truth be, Kuroo found him interesting.

The phone on the coffee table continued to buzz, forcing Kuroo to leave his thoughts.

“Kenma? Someone keeps trying to text you.” Kuroo called to Kenma.

“Who?” Kenma replied, poking his head out from the kitchen.

Kuroo grabbed the phone, looking at the name displayed on the screen.

“An Oikawa-“ Kuroo paused as he read the name. “Tooru?”

“Ignore it.” Kenma answered, leaving to go back to the tea.

Kuroo furrowed his brow, looking at the phone. It was odd, that Kenma knew the Oikawa Tooru who he just learnt about a few days before, the same Oikawa Tooru that Iwaizumi was sleeping with. He shook his head, placing the phone back down on the coffee table and waiting for Kenma to come back with tea.

Meanwhile, Kenma stood in the kitchen, pouring tea with shaking hands. He shook with the thought that he was standing so close to someone who could take everything he had away. Taking a breath, he continued onto pouring his glass. He needed to stop whatever was developing between him and Kuroo, yet somehow, it felt already too late.


	7. clouded water

Kageyama traced the scar along his side through the shirt he wore. He sat in a small cafe in the centre of Tokyo, where wide eyed tourists walked across streets, cameras in hand. It was Kageyama’s favourite pastime: people watching. The faces of people he’s never met, the way their eyes light up, and their mouths moved in foreign tongues. Sometimes, he’d even give the people he saw stories. The woman in the blue was buying six coffees for her friends she hadn’t seen in a while, hence the packages under her arm. The man by the window, sipping at his drink with a somber expression was debating whether to sell the family home and downsize with his sick wife. The two boys waiting tables were dating, and just wanted some time to talk outside of work for a moment.

It had started, of course, with profile training. See a person, analyze their aura, their clothes, the way they speak and the manner in which they move. Gardeners had permanent dirt under their fingers, and they’d be stronger from lifting and working in the hot sun. Picking out nervous tendencies, find out how exactly the best way to kill would be. Of course, that wasn’t the situation right now, but the instinctive pattern of thought drilled into Kageyama’s mind as he watched the people come and go.

However, it was hard to observe that which people move when his eyes were fixated on one particular person. In front of him sat the ginger ball of sunshine, rambling on about something or another. His eyes lit up with every gesture of his hands, every wave of his arms. Kageyama rolled his eyes at Hinata's antics, causing the shorter to sputter. He was talking about his friend, or his career. Kageyama’s mind swarmed as he struggled to keep up.

Maybe that was a subliminal message to back away, to put on the cold exterior that Kageyama tended to emit, the scowls, the piercing glare. But somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, Kageyama couldn’t tear his eyes away from Hinata’s smile. He pushed leaving off, again, in hopes that he could sneak a few 

In reality, kageyama couldn't bring himself to accept the fact that he was already in too deep. It had been two months since they met, and despite his ridiculous nature, Kageyama was drawn to Hinata. 

Kageyama stared down at his plate, swirling the food in circles before bringing it to his lips and looking up at Hinata, who, as loud as ever, was talking with his signature animated eyes.

"And then, we're running away all cool like, and Kuroo, he's on the team too, grabs me and pulls me into a bush. Then we watched this super cool guy walk by. He was all stoic, and had this sword in his hand dripping with blood!” Hinata exclaimed. His eyes were wide, arms extended as if to show his surprise.

“We didn't see his face,” He continued, dropping his arms and scooping food into his mouth. “But Kuroo said it was way too dangerous to try and challenge him."

Snapped out of his thoughts, Kageyama shot his head up. Coughing, he swallowed the food lodged in his throat. “Where did you say you were?” He asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. 

Hinata’s eyes widened for a split second before he replied. “Not far from here, actually. Some alley by some club, and we saw him surrounded by a pile of bodies.”

Kageyama’s face dropped and paled. No matter how dense he could be, he had no doubt that Hinata was the one who saw him.

“Anyways,” Hinata said, ignoring Kageyama’s obvious distress, “We got out safe, that’s what mattered. Didn't get an identity, though.” Hinata said with a sigh, his features scrunching up in annoyance.Kageyama nodded, his face regaining colour. He took a sip of his drink, trying to avoid Hinata’s eyes as he responded.

“That sounds dangerous.” Kageyama said. He mentally cursed himself for saying something so idiotic as Hinata laughed.

“Yeah, I bet you would have got speared if you were there.” He teased, flicking an orange slice at Kageyama.

Kageyama sputtered as he scowled towards Hinata, who was continuing to giggle at his expression.

Sipping the last few drops of his drink, Hinata waved over a waiter. Before Kageyama could reach for it, Hinata swiped the bill and gave him a wink as he payed. Kageyama froze as he watched Hinata hand the check back to the waiter, who smiled at them before walking away.

Kageyama narrowed his eyes. “Why’d you pay?” Kageyama asked, cocking his head.

Hinata rolled his eyes as he stood up, pushing in his chair and leaning over the table. His face, rested ridiculously close to Kageyama’s, so close that he could smell the scent shampoo in his hair. Kageyama’s eyes widened, feeling the bush creep up his cheeks.

Hinata smirked at Kageyama’s flustered face. “Because,” He replied, “I invited you out, I should be the one who pays.” He said. His face split into a grin as he hopped out of his chair and walked past Kageyama.

Kageyama moved on autopilot, following Hinata out of the door and onto the street. Hinata slowed to stand beside him. He hummed, brushing his hand against Kageyama’s. Before Kageyama could freeze and pull away, Hinata laced his fingers with Kageyama and swung his hand forward, swinging their arms forward and back.

Kageyama stomach flipped as Hinata dragged him back to his car. He slipped his small hand out of Kageyama’s as he walked around to the passengers side. Silence sat comfortably in the air as they drove, and Kageyama did his best not to scream in confusion. Why, of all people, had Hinata grabbed his hand? 

“Kageyamaaa,” Hinata whined, leaning onto the dash. “Are you going to pierce my ears anytime this century?” He asked.

Kageyama frowned. “I would need my tools and they’re-”

“Idiot, I meant at your parlour. Maybe you can introduce me to the friends you claim to have.” Hinata teased, rolling his eyes.

“Oh.” Kageyama replied.

Kageyama swallowed the knot in his throat. There was no reason, if he was careful, to be skeptical of letting Hinata come to The Three. Absolutely none. At least, that’s what Kageyama tried to think as he turned onto the parking lot of the parlour. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the car and lead Hinata into the building.

Passing the front desk where, unsurprisingly, Tsukishima was _not_ sitting, he walked into his cubicle and beckoned Hinata in. 

Hinata followed in, sitting down in the chair and tucking his feet under himself. Kageyama let out a sigh. He crossed his fingers and hoped that neither Daishou or Tsukishima would come in and pester him. Of course, as soon as he began to set up his tools, he heard the familiar chime of the door and a laugh ring out through the parlour.

Hinata raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to speak, but was silenced when a pair of people walked into Kageyama’s workspace. Standing in the doorway was not Tsukishima, but Kenma, and none other than Kuroo. 

“Kuroo?’ Hinata asked, jumped out of the seat in surprise.

“Hey, shrimp.” He said, leaning against the wall. “Why are you here?” 

“A piercing?” Hinata replied.

“I’m dragging my friend to get his, he’s been putting it off.” Kuroo replied, nodding his head towards Kenma, who buried his head his game.

Kageyama groaned. Of course, he forgot that Kenma was coming in today.

Hinata began to speak, launching into a one sided conversation with Kenma as Kuroo side eyed Kageyama as he prepped the station. Kageyama busied himself with the needles as Kuroo’s stare intensified. 

“A piercer?” He asked, looking at Kageyama with raised brows. “You don’t seem to have many, yourself.”

Kageyama did his best not to freeze up. “I take most of them out when I go into town. Odd glances, all that.”

Kuroo nodded as Kenma spoke up. “Be nice,” The boy said, looking up from his game. “Kageyama is shy.”

Kageyama blushed, but called Hinata forward to the chair. The process of repiercing his ears was simple enough, and Hinata only stopped talking once to wince as the needle went through the flesh.

As Hinata hopped out of the chair, Kenma walked straight up to it and laid down, not waiting for Kageyama to wipe it down.

“Get on with it,” He said, lifting up his sweatshirt and exposing his belly. All three of them raised their eyebrows, not expecting Kenma to be one for bellybutton decor.

As the procedure went on, Kenma caught Kageyama’s eye. “Can you stop by mine later tonight?” He asked, his voice low. Kageyama nodded, cleaning up the newly pierced area.

As Kenma said goodbye to Kuroo, Hinata pulled him aside. Surprised Kageyama stumbled, but the smaller pulled him down to reach Hinata’s eye level.

“This was nice, come over to mine tomorrow?” He said, eyes wide.

Kageyama nodded quickly without thinking, causing the ginger to break into a grin. 

“See you tomorrow, Kageyama!” He called over his shoulder as he walked away.

* * *

“I’m going to kill him tomorrow.” Kenma said as they entered his apartment. 

“ _What_?” Kageyama exclaimed, dread filling him. 

Kenma, unfazed, sat down on his sofa and kicked up his feet. “Kuroo, I mean. The man I was with. He’s dangerous, I can’t afford being affiliated with him.” He responded.

Kageyama stood silent, and Kenma continued. “I asked Kei to do it. I figured he’d be more efficient. No offence, or anything. He’s better suited for these things.” 

“But why?” Kageyama asked.

“Because,” Kenma said, his voice softening. “He’s a detective, Tobio. It’s too dangerous to be around him. You should know.”

Kageyama froze, his eyes widening. “How’d you know?” He asked.

Kenma rolled his eyes. “I was there the night the red head came to Diamond Eyes. You’re gonna run into problems if you don't do anything.” He said quietly.

Kageyama shook his head, taking a step back. “Hinata won’t find out.”

Kenma sighed. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Kageyama clenched his jaw as he turned around and ran out of Kenma’s apartment. He stormed down the stairs and onto the streets, where a steady drizzle of rain fell. Swearing, he pulled at his bangs. Kenma knew, of course he did. If there was anyone who could rival Oikawa in perceptiveness, it was him. 

_And what if Oikawa were to find out?_ Kageyama thought as he turned into an alley. OIkawa was merciless when he wanted to be, and Kageyama knew that without him, he’d be long dead. If Hinata didn't find out about him, then Oikawa would, and he’d be dead in an instant. He paced back and forth, contemplating his options. He wasn't going to kill Hinata, he decided as he circled. There wasn't a reason to, he wasn't smart enough to pick up on it, Kageyama’s alibi was solid-

“Oi, samurai.” A voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts. Kageyama whipped his head around, his hand flying instinctively to the inside of his coat where his gun lay. The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the neon glow of the street signs, revealing a grinning Daishou.

“What are you doing here?” He asked incredulously, lowering his gun arm. 

Daishou snickered. “I guard Kenma, remember? But right now, I’m picking you up, kid. We have recon to do.” He said, walking past Kageyama with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Kageyama groaned and reluctantly followed. “Can you at least stop calling me samurai?”

Daishou laughed as he lead him to his car, pausing to lean onto the hood as he replied. “Kages, you literally fight with swords, of all things.”

“We were taught to use all types of weapons to our advantage.” He grumbled as he opened the door and took a seat.

Daishou, not bothering to put on his seatbelt, started the car and pulled out of the alley. “And out of all those weapons, you choose a sword? Man, am I glad I was born into a city clan. You assassin fuckers are weird as shit.” He said, rounding a corner with a harsh turn, jostling Kageyama to the right. Kageyama rolled his eyes, using all his energy not to snap back at snarky bastard beside him. 

“Who are we investigating, then?” He asked instead, looking at the back seat where his swords lay (Daishou must’ve stopped at his house to get them).

“Shiratorizawa. Oikawa doesn't think the investigators are a threat at this moment. He wants us to deal with them instead.” Daishou responded.

“You said it was recon?” Kageyama said, cocking his head as he sat back in his seat.

“It is, Samurai-kun. Oikawa, somehow, got ahold of some records on their members and what they like to do in their free time. We’re headed to Semi Eita’s house. Our job is to plant information in a lower rank, snoop on an upper one, blah blah, whatever.”

Kageyama opened his mouth to ask another question, but Daishou beat him to it, continuing to explain.

“Oikawa’s big party thing is coming up. We need information, and the only way to get it is to trick a specific higher up, Semi, into our territory. But, if we don't plant this information, and find out his exact weight and height, none of this is going to work.” Daishou explained.

Kageyama sighed. Of course, it all came back to power plays. There were still holes in Daishou’s explanation, but he opted to forget about them and follow him into a middle class home, shaking with bass and the indisputable signs of a house party.

Inside, the crowded mass of bodies swarmed the halls. Daishou led him towards a corner, leaning close to make sure he could be heard.

“I have a plan. It’s a plan that involves drugs, not on your part, kissing, on your part, and the possibility of sex if you want.” He said, leaning over to grab a cup full of a murky liquid. 

Handing the cup to Kageyama, he slipped a small tablet into the drink, watching it fizz as Kageyama raised his brows.

“See the stoic ass over there?” Daishou said, motioning to the man standing alone, a cigarette between his lips. “Give him this, make out with him, and bring him up to the second floor bathroom.”

“How will I know it’s clear?” Kageyama asked. “And what does this have to do with-”

“We need his weight and height, remember? Bathrooms have scales, idiot. Have faith in me.” He said, his voice sounding bored as he walked away.

Kageyama gulped, shaking the discomfort from his bones. He walked up to the man, side eyeing him from afar. It wasn’t long before he noticed Kageyama’s gaze with his own, raising a brow and beckoning him forward.

“Drink?” Kageyama offered in what he hoped was the most charismatic voice he could pull off. “I’m not a fan.” 

The man, Semi, took the cup from him with a smirk and downed it in a single gulp. Dropping it and the cigarette to the floor, he let Kageyama’s hesitant hand trace his face.

“You’ve been staring.” He stated smugly, as Kageyama lowered his lips to the man’s ears.

“Maybe I have.” He said, disgusted with the way his voice sounded.

It wasn’t long before Semi dragged him into the second floor bathroom, cleared miraculously by Daishou. Kageyama really didn't want to kiss the man in front of him, but when he spotted the scale pushed against the wall, he got an idea. Pinning the man to the wall, he let him slip, standing on the scale as Semi leaned onto Kageyama, spewing a jumbled sentence in his ear. Kageyama looked down at the scale, reading the number. As soon as he caught it, he let Semi drop and bolted from the house, meeting Daishou in his car.

“Did you get it?” Daishou asked.

“He’s my height, almost exactly, and he's 70.5 kilos. Did you plant the info?” He asked, buckling up as Daishou pulled away. 

“Yeah, it was easy. These guys are idiots. Semi’ll show up to the party, for sure. He’s stubborn, he won’t let anyone but himself see it through.” He responded.

Kageyama sighed. “I can’t believe you wanted me to drug him into sex.”

Daishou rolled his eyes. “Relax, Samurai, it was a joke. God, you literally murder for a living, I can’t believe drugging someone bugs you that much.”

Kageyama huffed out a sigh, biting his tongue only because he knew Daishou wasn't afraid to throw a punch. It wouldn't be the first time they've fought, and for the sake of getting the job done, Kageyama focused on the road ahead.

Nervousness began to set in his stomach. There were a few reasons Shiratorizawa were as dangerous to the Aoba-Hebi clan as they were. Thieves, their well planned heists often targeted the large supply of drugs they supplied, meaning they stole profit. What’s more, The leader, Ushijima, had some sort of grudge against Oikawa. And perhaps the most troubling issue, was that Ushijima knew Oikawa’s identity and relation to the clan. The party, in planning for three months, would hopefully solve that. Get information on Ushijima out of Semi, land a few bad blows to the thieves, and push them into a corner.

All while they both evaded the eyes of the police.

* * *

Kenma laid on the cool tile of his bathroom floor, clutching his arm as he took deep, shaky breaths. _This wasn’t supposed to be happening,_ he thought. _I am winning, this is just a game and I am in the lead._

The steady drip of water from his leaking shower echoed throng the room as Kenma felt his throat swell in dread. He let go of his arm, when small crescents from his fingernails had begun to form, blood trickling out of the small indents. He let his arms fall slack at his sides as tried to take a deep breath, failing as it came in and out quick as it came out.

Tremors ran up his body as Kenma felt a hiccup form in his throat. _It’s just a game, just a game_. _The winner survives, and I am the winner_. He told himself, grasping at the counter top to pull himself up, only to fall back onto the hard floor again. His legs were weak, not able to carry him, and Kenma felt tears start streaming down his face.

He swore under his breath, silent sobs raking through his body. _This was never supposed to happen,_ He thought. He pushed the lingering thought out of his mind that Kuroo didn’t deserve to die; that was backwards thinking, he needed to be killed because he was who he was, a detective, a threat, the kindest person Kenma had ever met.

He couldn't take it, the shudders that were running down his body, and his mind overcrowded with screaming thoughts. He cupped his hands around his mouth, trying to slow his face paced breathing as he waited for his eyesight to clear. 

As the panic wore off, Kenma found himself standing to his feet, dragging his heavy body towards the tub, where he turned the facet and watched the water begin to pour into the basin. His mind was still racing, and although every thought was dull, Kenma wanted to be distracted entirely.

Sighing in a way of defeat, Kenma opened the medicine cabinet, reaching for the empty bottle of ibuprofen. Inside were several small bags of various colour. Popping open the lid, he grabbed a package and tore it open, placing the drug in his mouth and letting it melt on his tongue. LSD wasn't his favourite, but he made so much extra of it that he could afford to take some for his own use.

As he waited for it to kick in, Kenma leaned against the counter, kicking off his jeans. Growing impatient by the second, he closed his eyes, throwing his head back. The shapes behind his eyelids had already begun to swirl with vibrant colours, creating some sort of checker board. Fed up with waiting, Kenma opened them, taking a moment to adjust to the feel of the room. His body felt heavy, yet every movement was done with ease.

Kenma slipped into the tub, turning off the facet despite the water only being halfway filled. Lowering himself in, he knocked over a bar of soap. He squinted, looking at the water. It was purple, and seemed to be crashing against the sides of his tub like a rough sea. The tub itself was moving to, swirling in and out, like it was caught in a spiral.

Kenma hummed as he leaned his head back, not even bothering to wince as the back of his neck hit the edge of the bath. Everything was an odd shade of teal now, the lights were glimmering, the floor moving in circles. If Kenma wanted a distraction, he certainly had one now.

In the back of his mind, where reality still tugged at the edges of his senses, Kenma could faintly hear a bang, and the telltale sound of the front door being opened. A voice, distorted and too hazy for Kenma to care to focus on, sang out through the apartment.

The door to the bathroom opened, and a head stuck in. “Kenma, I cannot believe you-” Oikawa started as he walked into the bathroom, only to pause upon seeing Kenma.

Kenma giggled as he looked at Oikawa. He seemed bluer than usual, and his hair looked like string and yarn. His eyes looked big and swollen. Kenma laughed again, airy and careless. _Maybe the aliens he loves finally abducted him,_ He thought as he leaned over the bath tub’s edge.

Oikawa looked at him with a confused expression. “Ken-chan, you're wearing a sweater in the bath.” He said with a perplexed expression. Kenma scoffed and pouted as he sunk deeper into the water. It had begun to boil, and started to churn into a thick lava.

Oikawa looked at Kenma’s counter, spotting the bottle of ibuprofen. Looking at the contents inside, he rolled his eyes.

“Acid, really Kozume?” He said, exasperated.

Kenma’s face split into a giddy high grin. “Do you want some?” He asked, his voice sounded distorted to his ears.

Oikawa shook his head. “You know what LSD does to me, Kenma.” He answered with a frown. After sifting through the various drugs in the bottle, he sighed and fastened the cap, putting it back in the cabinet and walking over to sit on the toilet. 

“God, Kenma, how strong was that?” He said with a snicker. “You-”

“Shh!” Kenma said, his eyes widening ashe leaned over the tub, dripping water as he did so. “They’ll hear you.”

Oikawa snickered, shaking his head. “Kenma, you’re high as fuck.” He said, walking over to him, despite his protests and pulling him out of the water.

“This water is ice cold, honestly what were you thinking?” He said, pulling the plug and letting the water drain.

Grabbing Kenma, who was still mumbling about changing colours or something of the like, Oikawa dragged him to his room, pulling off his sweater and rifling through his closet and throwing him a pair of pyjamas. Straightening the blankets on his bed, Oikawa watched as Kenma struggled into his clothes before collapsing, face first, onto the bed. 

“Do you mind if I go then? I don't think you're in any state to hear me bitch.” Oikawa teased. Kenma let out a muffled groan, letting Oikawa know he was fine to leave.

* * *

Kenma woke up, feeling the awful effects of a crash, watching the edges of his vision swirl despite sleeping for over twelve hours. He leaned out of his bed, pushing his hair out of his face and checking the time: A quarter past nine. Groaning, he pulled out his phone, biting the bullet and setting up where to go with Kuroo right away. Kuroo picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Kenma, what is it?” He asked, shuffling something on the other side of the phone. “I was just about to call.”

“You were?” Kenma asked tentatively, standing up from his bed slowly as to not fall onto the floor.

“Yeah, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the gardens later. It’s supposed to get really cold the next few days, they might frost over.” He replied, his voice warm as always, and Kenma felt something drop in the pit of his stomach, because he was talking to a dead man.

“That sounds really nice.” He choked out, trying not to puke. “When do you want to-”

“Can I pick you up at six?” Kuroo asked, the question coming out rushed. 

Kenma took a deep breath before responded. “Yeah. Um, okay, yeah. I’ll see you.” He replied, hanging up the phone and dropping it onto the floor.

“ _Fuck,”_ Kenma whispered as he pulled off his pyjamas, reaching into his closet for something to wear.

HIs fingers shook as he pulled on his clothes. Kenma focused on the task at hand, trying not to let the lingering effects of the drug haze his mind as he tried to focus. It was no use: he found himself fully dressed with time still on his hands. Reaching into a drawer, Kenma pulled out a burner, flipping it open and typing in Tsukishima’s work number.

“What do you want.” The voice on the other end spat, cold and intimidating as always.

“Six pm, at the gardens.” Kenma said simply.

“I thought it was Daishou, sorry.” Tsukishima said. “Stall until seven, and make sure that you're a few feet away. You’ll get blood on you if you don’t. What do you want as a signal?” 

“A signal?” Kenma asked, perplexed.

He could practically hear Tsukishima’s eye roll on the other end. “Yes, a signal. If something goes wrong, if you have to call it off, whatever.”

Kenma stayed silent, thinking. Tsukishima sighed.

“If you want to call it off, spread you fingers wide, and place your hands together at opposite angles, and hold them close to your chest for ten seconds. Otherwise, I shoot.” Tsukishima said, his voice sounding final. 

Kenma let out the breath he wasn't aware he was holding. “Thank you, Kei.” 

“Anytime.”

* * *

A knock rang out through Kenma’s apartment, once, twice, three times before Kenma brought himself off of the couch and towards the door. He hesitated, pausing as his hands hovered over the doorknob. Another knock, and a soft whisper of Kenma’s name brought him back to his senses, pulling open the door to face the man in front of him.

Kuroo’s hair, messy as always, fell around the frames of his glasses. He was leaning to the side, looming down and slouching as tobridge the height gap between him and the bleach blond in front of him. Kenma looked down at his clothes, a button down shirt, a long coat draped around his shoulders, and jeans that cost more than anything he owned as a child, hugging every curve in his legs. But the one thing kenma couldn’t look away from was that Kuroo’s big brown eyes were fixated on him.

_This isn't happening,_ Kenma thought.

Kuroo smiled, reaching over Kenma to push open the door further. “You look really good,” He said, coughing into his arm. 

Kenma muttered a small thank you, ducking under his outstretched arm and locking the door behind him. Kuroo’s glare bore holes into his back, and as he turned around he wasn't surprised to be met with a gaze fixed on him.

“I like your skirt.” Kuroo said, brushing his hand against Kenma’s, leading him towards the stair well.

“Thank you.” Kenma said out loud.

In his head, Kenma put up every icy thought he could muster, forcing his face to remain blank as his insides screamed. Kuroo looked back at him every so often, a soft smile on his face, and every time he did so, Kenma felt his heart drop.

_He is going to die._ Kenma repeated to himself. _This is the last thing he’ll ever remember._

Kuroo, who’s car was yet to be fixed, lead him through the streets, talking as they went. The words passed through his ears as they were spoken, Kozume’s mind a fuzzy mess as he tried to concentrate on not fainting. The air was still cool, but it had warmed to the point where Kenma could justify not wearing a jacket, yet he still found chills travelling down his spine as the neared the garden.

The sun had set, dusk settling in over the city. Kuroo grabbed Kenma’s hand, pulling him through the rows of just blooming bushes, past rows of flower chutes and steams, towards a small bench by a large tree. Kenma sat down on the far edge, crossing his legs and turning to wear Kuroo sat.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it? They say the growth is going to be really stunted this year, what with the weather and all. I thought I might as well take you before it’s too late.” Kuroo mused, looking at the hopeful signs of spring around them.

_Please don’t speak like that,_ Kenma thought, _It’s only making this worse._

“My original plan,” Kuroo continued, his gaze still averting Kenma’s, “Was to buy you flowers. But then I remembered that they sell some where. And maybe you’d want to pick some out and I’d get them for you.”

Kenma’s stomach boiled. Every part of him screamed to cover his ears, to cover Kuroo’s mouth and block his words from being said, heard. Kenma began to shake, his vision swirling ashis eyes unfocused. 

_No,_ He thought _, This can’t be happening._

Kuroo noticed his tremors, and his face fell. “Are you cold?” He asks, slipping his coat off of his shoulders and draping it on Kenma before he could protest.

Kuroo’s coat smelt like cedar and sandalwood, and as Kenma cozied deeper into the jacket involuntarily, he stood up, using trying to fix the coat on his small frame as an excuse to stand up and back away slightly. Kuroo smiled softly, and Kenma’s heart ached.

Kenma took another half step back as Kuroo began to speak again, spotting a small, red beam of light shone at the side of Kuroo’s head. Kenma steadied his legs, holding his arms closer to himself as he tried to look away from the red light.

“I really like you Kenma.” He said, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke. “I really do.” 

The light intensified, and in a split second, Kenma brought his stretched palms together on his chest as quickly as he could. The red light disappeared, and Kuroo’s eyes widened at Kenma’s movement. Before he could ask, Kenma had already begun to run.

“Kenma!” Kuroo called, running after Kenma. He wasn’t fast, and the coat was so long that he had to be careful not to slip. The edges of his vision began to go, and Kenma tripped and fell into a planter of blooming flowers.

It wasn’t long before Kuroo caught up, grabbing his hand and pulling him out. Kenma didn't get up, anchoring his body like a rock. Kuroo paused when Kenma didn't budge. After a few moments, he turned and sat int he planter right beside Kenma.

“Are you okay?” He asked, breaking the silence. Kenma nodded

“I’m sorry for springing that on you.” He said.

Kenma cut him off, his voice surprisingly steady as he spoke. “It’s alright.” Kenma replied. “I think I like you too, and that terrifies me.”

Kuroo blinked twice, his brows, raising and a smile forming on his face again. Surprise evident in his yes, he spoke again.

“Can I hug you?” He asked.

Kenma rolled his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to ask for a kiss or something.”

“Well, I, I thought that you’d want to-” He sputtered, his hand flying to the back of his neck as his gaze averted Kenma.

Kenma grabbing his face with both his hands, and brought his lips to meet Kuroo’s.Kuroo froze for a split second before he began to kiss back, move his mouth against Kenma’s softly. Kenma brought his hands away from Kuroo’s face and laid them on his broad shoulders. The kiss was delicate, neither bothering to deepen the action. Kuroo’s hands rested on Kenma’s hips, keeping him steady. It didn't work for long. 

Kenma pressed forward, knocking Kuroo over and into the damp soil. They froze for a moment, Kenma looming over Kuroo, his hair framing his face and blocking his peripherals. All he could see was the stunned Kuroo Tetsurou staring up at him, his dumfounded expression changing into a smirk before changing again into a wide grin, laughing escaping his lips.

“Oh my god, Kenma, you’re going to be the death of me.” He said, propping himself up on his elbows.

Kenma sat back shaking this head. “You have no idea.”

* * *

Kageyama’s mind swirled as he parked along the curb of Hinata’s street. He stepped out of the car, his thoughts fuzzy as he approached the patio entrance where Hinata told him to enter. Knocking lightly on the glass, he saw a figure inside jump and run to the door. The door opened to reveal Yachi, her hair tied away from her face, with an apron tied around her waist.

“Kageyama!” She squeaked, stepping away to let him in. “Hinata isn’t home yet, he had to stay late.” She said, nervously eying Kageyama as he walked in.

Kageyama nodded as Yachi shut the door behind him. Whenever he had visited Hinata’s apartment, he had never been left alone with Yachi. Although she seemed nervous, she continued to speak to him as a friend. 

“I’m just baking some things right now, you can give me a hand if you want.” She stated, walking towards the kitchen. “Of course, you don't need to!” She added in after thought.

Kageyama, curious, followed her in. She smiled when she saw him lingering in the doorframe, tossing him an apron. It was too small, not reached his neck, so Kageyama let the top piece fall and tied it around his waist.

“The recipe is here,” She said, pointing to a worn book on the edge of the counter, the same one in which he was stitched up like a doll. “I’ve got all the ingredients set out, I’ll work on another while you do that.”

Kageyama looked at the recipe for simple chocolate chip cookies. He read over the information, reaching for the measuring spoons as he began to work. As they worked, Yachi hummed under her breath, a smile on her face.

“You like baking?” Kageyama asked as he cracked an egg into his mix.

Yachi nodded quickly. “It helps me keep my mind off things.”

Kageyama hummed in response, cracking another egg and placing the shell in the trash can. The wet ingredients, now all mixed, laid in the bowl. Yachi, looking over at his progress, smiled and reached over, dropping a few dollops of red colouring into the mix. As he began to ass flour, Yachi spoke up. 

“You know, Hinata really likes you.” She stated. Kageyama paused, looking over to Yachi and cocking his head.

“He talks about you a lot,” Yachi continued. “He’s been a bit more, I don't know himself, since you met.”

Kageyama furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Yachi put down her spoon, wiping the flour on her hands onto her apron. “He was added onto the investigative team he’s on about a year ago, and since then, he’s been a lot less lighthearted, I guess.” She said. “I don't blame him, it terrifies me, just hearing about what he has to think about on a daily basis. But you, a friend who isn't from the team, really made him less intense.”

It was Kageyama’s turn to freeze. Yachi smiled, picking her spoon back up and began to pour her batter into a loaf tin. Kageyama, mind filled with new thoughts, turned back to his own bowl.

By the time everything was in the oven, they heard a loud _smack_ of a door being closed, and a loud, singsong voice yell “I’m home!”

Kageyama, undoing the tie on his back, draped the apron a chair and walking towards the doorway to see Hinata hanging up his coat. As he turned, His eyes lit up.

“Ugh, paperwork is so boring, Kageyama-kun.” he whined. “Kuroo made me fill all of our team reports alone, something about being the ‘superior’” He mocked, rolling his eyes and walking into the kitchen, where he hopped onto the counter. Kageyama nodded, before Hinata’s words hit him.

Kuroo. Kenma’s Kuroo. Alive, making Hinata do paperwork.

Pushing his confusion to the side, he followed Hinata into the kitchen, where Yachi was telling Hinata off for trying to grab a cookie from inside the oven.

“Can I at least test one?” He begged, staring at her with puppy eyes.

“No!” Yachi said, her tone firm as she bat away Hinata’s hand.

Kageyama snickered. “They’re not even finished, dumbass.”

“How would you know?” Hinata questioned. 

“Because,” Kageyama said, a proud smirk growing on his face. “I made them.”

Hinata sputtered, surprised, as Yachi laughed behind her hand.

“You got _him_ to bake?!” Hinata asked, his voice filled with doubt.

Yachi’s giggling grew louder as Kageyama defeated the urge to yell _I told you so_ into the ginger’s flabbergasted face.

The sun set quickly, and after half a loaf of lemon bread and a few too many cookies, HInata was standing on a footstool, trying to grab a futon from a higher shelf. He, the ever so gracious host, insisted on Kageyama sleeping over.

It was a somewhat regular occurrence, and every time Kageyama fell the same kind of fluttering nervousness in the pit of his stomach, along with a cloud of guilt and the very true reality that Hinata is only comfortable with being close to him because he doesn't know he’s a murderer. Those kinds of thoughts never used to haunt him like they did, and even now, the only time it started to bother him was when he was around Hinata. Maybe he was finally growing a conscience.

Or maybe he was finally growing some common sense, because he was spending time with a _cop_.

“Yachi!” Hinata called. “Do you know where the futon is?” He asked.

“Kiyoto borrowed it, remember?” She called back, her voice filled with annoyance. Hinata huffed, blowing a stray hair form his line of vision.

_That name sounds familiar,_ Kageyama thought. He pushed the thought away and went back to the situation at hand.

“You’re not leaving, Kageyama-kun. It’s almost one am.” Hinata warned, shaking a finger at Kageyama.

“I can sleep on the couch then.” Kageyama offered, rolling his eyes.

Hinata scoffed. “I’m the host, or whatever, I’ll sleep there.”

“No, you're not. It’s _your_ bed, dumbass.” Kageyama insisted, pushing him towards the bed.

“Hey!” Hinata exclaimed.

“Can you two shut up!” Yachi yelled from the other room. “Just sleep in the bed together and let _me_ sleep!”

The two froze, eyes wide and staring at each other. Finally aware of how close they were, Kageyama took a step back, muttering dumbass under his breath. He walked past Hinata, opening his sock drawer and pulling out the pyjama’s he has left there. Kicking off his jeans, he grabbing the bottoms and pulled them on. Feeling a gaze on his back, he straightened and turned around to see Hinata whipping his head away before their gazes could meet. Kageyama rolled his eyes, grabbing his sleep shirt and lifting it over his head.

“Wait,” Hinata said as Kageyama lifted his arms to put on his shirt.

“What?” Kageyama asked, turning to face Hinata.

Hinata swallowed, a light blush on his cheeks as he spoke. “I wanna look at your tattoo.” He said. Seeing Kageyama’s confused expression and cocked head, he continued. “On your back.”

Kageyama stood, surprised, and reluctantly dropped the shirt onto the ground. He turned around so that his back faced Hinata. A blush creeped its way onto his cheeks as he felt Hinata’s gaze press on his skin. He wasn't sure how ignorant Hinata could be to the fact that the brand on his back was indeed, not a tattoo, but he didn't speak, so neither did Kageyama.

Kageyama jumped when Hinata’s fingers began to trace the symbol. He whipped his head around to face Hinata, their bodies now flush. Hinata’s eyes stared up at him, locked in his gaze. Blush crept up both of their faces, but before Kageyama could even look away, Hinata leaned up, pressing their lips together and closing the gap between them.

The kiss, once Kageyama overcame the surprise that Hinata was kissing him, started soft. Hinata tasted like cherry lip balm and a hint of sugar, and Kageyama only hoped he tasted half as sweet. Hinata reached his arms over Kageyama’s shoulders and pulled them closer, swiping his tongue over Kageyama’s bottom lip. Kageyama parted his lips, letting the smaller press his tongue past his teeth.

The kiss quickly grew more passionate, and Kageyama felt himself being pushed onto Hinata’s bed. Hinata straddled Kageyama, his mouth leaving Kageyama’s to latch onto his neck, where he bit down. Kageyama stifled a noise that was threatening to rise out of the back of his throat.

Hinata licked up his neck, kissing along his jaw and moving his mouth higher and higher. He took Kageyama’s ear lobe between his teeth, biting it as he ran a hand down Kageyama chest.

“Be quiet,” Hinata said, pulling away to stare down at Kageyama. “Yachi would kill me if she woke up to us having sex.” Kageyama’s eyes widened at the stamen as Hinata flashed a devilish grin.

“I’m assuming that’s where we’re going with this.” He said, reaching down to squeeze Kageyama’s crotch.

Kageyama nodded, letting out a shaky breath. Suddenly, he reached up to grasp onto Hinata’s hair, yanking his face down to meet his.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be.” Hinata said against his mouth, slipping his hand into Kageyama’s pants. “Alright.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was hesitant about posting this, mainly because of the events of orlando. my heart goes out to any of the victims and their families of this vicious hate crime. stay strong~


	8. sleet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heres a super short chapter for some kenma insight because a. im thirsty for kenma and b. the next chapter is like,,, hella intense so heres something to bridge the wait

Kenma sighed as he threw his hood up and walked outside of his apartment building, standing just shy of rain cover. He pulled his jacket, well, Kuroo's jacket, over his head. It did little to shield him from the rain, but kept his small frame from shivering either way. 

He pulled out his phone, checking the time and sighing. It wasn't usual for Kiyoko to be late, so when time read ten past the hour, he was surprised that she hasn't showed up. 

Pulling the coat closer around his frame, Kenma watched as the rain turned into sleet as a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Pocketing his phone, Kenma walked to the passenger seat. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a man with blonde hair, complete with a black stripe. Sighing, he slammed the door and climbed into the backseat where Kiyoko was. 

"Why are you here, Kentarou?" Kenma asked. Kyoutani let out a huff as the man driving answered. 

"Oikawa thinks it's dangerous to have you two driving on you own." He said. Kenma identified his voice as Yahaba, and leaned back into his seat. 

Kyoutani and Yahaba were essentially the body guards of the lab. Not quite on the same level as The Three, their tasks were usually a lot less intense. Make no mistake, they were still good with a gun, but there was a reason The Three were legendary in the way they were. 

Kenma sighed, itching to grab his phone from his pocket, but resisting as Kiyoto pulled out a blue folder from her bag. Flipping through the first few pages, she stopped at the one written in small scrawl. 

"Oikawa-san wants us to continue work as normally, leave early to deliver to Diamond eyes, per usual, but today we need to make the serum for the party." She said, skimming over the file. 

Kenma nodded in acknowledgement, pulling out his phone as Yahaba spoke. 

"Are you going?" He asked. "Me and Kyou where invited, I assume you were too."

Kiyoko nodded. A light blush crept up her cheeks as she replied. "I think I might bring my girlfriend." 

Kenma raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to be there when we torture him, do you?" He asked. 

Kiyoko nodded. "You understand. It's not my cup of tea."

Yahaba made a noise of agreement from the front seat. "I don't know how you can do it, Kenma. Being with Oikawa and The Three when they torture, that is."

Kenma shrugged. He was rather desensitized after all these years, and despite the bone chilling reality that he often spent time in the quality of killers, he managed to become comfortable around them. 

Kyoutani rolled his eyes. "Oikawa ain't scary."

Yahaba snorted. "You looked like your soul left your body the first time you saw him mad, and that was just over a small slip up." He countered. "I've never witnessed any of that up close, much less torture, but I've heard Kageyama say that he even gets chills when Oikawa gets serious, and he's an ex-assassin."

Kiyoko shrugged, remaining just as nonchalant as Kenma beside her. Kenma opted out of the conversation for the relaxing patter of his thumbs on his phone as he played absentmindedly on an app. It wouldn't be long before they pulled into the underground parking garage. 

The car pulled to a stop as they took the service route, parking in the practically empty area of the garage. The air outside of the car was cool and damp, and Kenma found himself snuggling even closer into his jacket as Kyoutani and Yahaba lead them towards a service elevator. 

How they found the place, Kenma would never know. All he knew was that Oikawa had connections, and those connections extended to someone who had an apartment complex with a second, unused parking garage, converted into suites which no one rented. Well, no one except for them, and definitely not for their original purpose. 

Kenma slipped off Kuroo’s jacket as Kiyoko unlocked the door. It swung open on the first try, and Kenma followed her in, leaving Kyoutani and Yahaba to watch the door. 

The old apartment was void of any furniture, with the majority of the kitchen remaining. The lights were off, and Kenma trailed his hand down the wall to flick them on. Stark white lights illuminated the room, which looked surprising empty for a drug lab.

Grabbing a hair tie from his wrist, Kenma reached behind his head and pulled back his hair as Kiyoto threw him a pair of gloves. He caught them with the other hand, and went to find his lab wear. The suit, although annoying, was necessary, as Kenma had learnt. He had long since left his days of burning his hands trying to make drugs in the past.

The mask was next: a simple surgeon style mouth and nose covering. He reached for the googles, slipping them on his face as he looked over to Kiyoko, who has pulled out all of the ingredients, if you could call them that, and places them on the counter. 

This was the work that came like muscle memory, the measurements known off the back of his hand. Kiyoko and him worked flawlessly together, switching places without any hassle, handing each other vials and bags without needing to ask.

Kenma let his mind relax as he worked. He had been manufacturing drugs for this Yakuza clan since Oikawa became the leader, but he had known how to make them longer than that. There weren't a lot of better options for a kid trying to keep his ass of the streets. Kenma was still surprised he managed to live this long.

_Although,_ he thought bitterly, _I may not live longer with my current situation._

Kenma didn't know how Oikawa would react to him dating (the word still felt foreign _,_ but that’s what they were doing, weren't they?) a detective. He knew it wouldn't be long before Oikawa caught on that he was seeing _somebody_ , he just prayed that he’d be so caught up in the fact that Kenma had gotten a boyfriend that he wouldn't stop to question his career. That was unlikely, but Kenma really didn't want his friendship with Tooru to go down the drain.

Before he knew it, he was finished, pulling off his safety gear and transferring the crystalline substance into a bag, then placing it in a metal briefcase that Kiyoko was carrying. She closed it, securing the lock before they left the lab, where Kyoutani was standing, waiting.

“Yahaba is walking around, doing whatever.” He said, voice gruff as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Completely intimidated, Kenma ducked his head down as they walked back to the car, Yahaba sitting idly on the hood. He nodded when he saw them walked towards the car with the case.

They piled in the car, pulling out of the garage as Kenma’s phone rang. He picked it up, not bothering to check for caller ID.

_“Kenma?”_ The voice on the other end asked.

“Hello, Kuroo.” Kenma replied, flushing slightly.

_“I was just calling to ask how you were, and stuff.”_ Kuroo replied, his voice surprisingly less composed. _“Maybe we can go out, later tonight? A proper second date.”_

Ah, yes. Because they had gone a date before. Where Kenma was supposed to have him killed.

“Sure.” Kenma squeaked out, flushing more at his tone.

He could practically hear Kuroo’s smile from theother side of the phone. _“Great! I was thinking, maybe we could go over to my apartment. I can cook dinner.”_

Kenma made a noise of acknowledgement, humming as an answer.

There was the sound of shuffling on the other line. _“I have to go now, but I’ll see you at my place around six.”_ He said.

“Bye Kuro.” Kenma said, trying to hide his blush from the rest in the car.

_“Bye!”_

Kenma hung up the phone, hiding the smile that had crept on his face as Yahaba raised an eyebrow in the mirror.

“Who was that?” Yahaba asked, a smirk finding its way to his face.

“No one.” Kenma said, his voice bored sounding as he contained the blush on his cheeks.

“Kenma,” Kiyoko asked. “Didn’t you say you were going to-”

“Plans change." He replied, his voice venomous and final.

Yahaba, always being one to challenge barrier, continued to talk. “Speaking of relationships, I think the boss is seeing someone.”

Kenma shrugged. “He’s had marks on his neck, but I just assumed that he was sleeping around again.” It wasn't unusual for Oikawa to do things like that, but Kenma listened to what Yahaba had to say.

“Oh no, trust me. I stopped by his apartment, if you can call it that, and knocked on the door. There wasn't an answer the first time so I had to call him before he finally got his ass to the door, and you won’t believe the state of him.” Yahaba said, laughing. 

“He walks out, wearing nothing but a pair of _super_ tight sweats, and no shirt. He was _wrecked_ , man. Hickies and bite marks all over his neck. And before I was able to say anything, this fucking _hunk_ of a man, tan skin, toned abs, biceps, the whole deal, comes out, throwing on a shirt, _and first names him_.” He continued, laughing.

Kiyoko giggled, and Kenma shook his head. “Sounds like OIkawa to me.”

 


	9. bloodstains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like,,, my favourite chapter so far please tell me if you like this

It was odd, walking into a club in broad daylight, something that Akaashi never quite got used to. Despite owning a club, every time he walked through the doors, seeing simple white LED lights instead of the usual colourful glow always made him feel out of place. 

The black and silver interior shone under the harsh light, reflecting into Akaashi's eyes as he went towards the back room to put his things in his locker. He never brought much: a change of clothes, several pairs of underwear, and bandaids were all that resided in his gym bag. The rest, makeup and costumes, was kept at the club. Akaashi liked it better that way. 

It wasn't that he was ashamed of being what he was, a stripper and prostitute, but he felt better keeping the itchy and unconventional lingerie at work, rather than in his own underwear drawer. 

Rubbing his eyes, Akaashi placed his things in his locker, taking out a book that he had left in there. He checked the time on his phone: a quarter past the hour, and he thought he was running late.

It wasn't unusual for him to show up this early, especially when Kenma and Kiyoko came to deliver their drugs. Akaashi was well past the point of being desensitized to the entire situation, and found himself having to remember that he can't just blurt out that sold his body, and supplied Tokyo dealers with hallucinogenic drugs for the biggest cartel in eastern Japan. It was a necessity in order to keep the club open, it was extremely hard to run it on the funds made off of stripping alone. Combined with the added sex work and salary that Oikawa provided, they were able to keep the club in perfect shape.

But lately, with the added strain of renting extra rooms above for the “dirty work," as Yaku called it, Akaashi found himself paying out of pocket.

He left the back room, walking out past the stage and towards the bar, sitting on a stool as he opened the book he had grabbed: The DaVinci Code. He had read it hundreds of times before, but it still remained his favourite. Flipping to the dog eared page where he left off, he began to read, only to be interrupted by the sound of his phone going off. 

**_kiyoko_ ** _: we're going through the back entrance_

Akaashi sighed, putting down his book onto the bar and walking back toward the back room. Waiting for him were Kiyoto and Kenma, and a large silver briefcase. The two chemists were rarely late, and Akaashi itched to ask why, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

"Traffic, sorry we were late." Kenma said, placing the brief case on one of the makeup vanities and playing with the locks. 

"The combination is 778-538-120. Let whoever gets the coke know that it's stronger than usual, they're selling it for fifty-thousand more a gram.” Kiyoto said, tucking her long, black hair behind her ear. 

Akaashi nodded, taking the briefcase and playing it on the table. “Do you have the time?” He asked, motioning for them to take a seat. Kenma gladly did, pulling his knees up to sit on his feet.

“Half past. When are your dealers supposed to arrive?” Kenma asked, not looking up from his phone as he spoke. As if on cue, a sharp rapping rang through the room.

“That would be them.” Akaashi said. 

“We should leave.” Kiyoto said, tapping Kenma on the shoulder. “Can we go through the front?”

Akaashi nodded. “See you later.” Kenma looked up from his phone to acknowledge his parting, and follow Kiyoto out of the room. Another sharp knock rang through the room. Akaashi rolled his eyes as he stood to look through the peephole. He opening the door, letting in the three people standing outside.

The taller of the three, Terushima, pushed his way in with a grin, leaving the other two to trail in behind as Akaashi shut the door. The girl, Alisa, rolled her eyes at his antics as he gave Akaashi a grin. The third, a stoic man with white hair, simply walked in and leaned against the wall.

“Hey, Akaashi!” Terushima exclaimed, bouncing beside him as he made his way over to the briefcase. 

“Shut up.” Akaashi replied, pushing him away and quickly playing with the dials of the case and opening it. He carefully pulled out the bag, labeled _LSD_ in Kenma’s slanted writing, and turned to face him. Terushima handed him a wad of bills, opening a hand to accept the drugs. Akaashi narrowed his eyes, flipping through the bills quickly before giving him the bag. Terushima opened his mouth to give another comment, but one glance from Akaashi shut him up and left him backing away slowly.

“Aone,” Akaashi said, turning back to the case and gathering what the stoic man needed. Akaashi would never admit it, but simply standing by him sent shivers up his spine. Aone handed him the money and took the drugs, opening his own bag to place the drugs inside. 

Akaashi turned to beacon Alisa, only to see her already beside him, money in hand and bag outstretched. Akaashi emptied the case of it’s contents, taking the money from Alisa and placing the coke in the bag.

“Fifty-thousand more per gram for this batch.” He said as he zipped up the bag for her. She nodded, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“Exit out the front, you know the drill.” Akaashi droned. He honestly didn’t want to deal with elaborate drug dealing at the moment, and the sooner they would leave, the sooner he could stash away the money and have some time to think.

After Ukai pressed for the club to turn more into a brothel, his personal income had gone down. Sure, he was earning more money, but more than half was going towards the upkeep the new rooms upstairs. On top of that, Ukai was demanding half every worker’s new pay, on top of their old, making it hard for Akaashi to get ends meet.

He hadn't payed last month’s rent, and he felt horribly out of place next to the riches and luxuries some of his friends could afford. It was frustrating, to say the least. He had told Oikawa about Ukai, but Oikawa made the point that the police were already tracking them.

_If they don’t catch him, I’ll send Daishou after him,_ Oikawa had said. _Once he’s gone, you canresume your usual pay. Or leave, it’s your choice._

The words echoed in his head as he rubbed his eyes. He couldn't leave, not now. Assuming the role of the manager meant that he was taking responsibility for conducting prostitution. Oikawa’s protection could only extend so far, and it would be hard for him to get a job with no university degree and the work experience of a prostitute. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his trance. Pulling it out of hispocket, he looked at the message flashing on the screen.

**_Bokuto:_** _hey ‘kaashi I’ll drop by again 2nite!!!!! see u!!!!_

**_Bokuto:_** _r u dancing 2nite???????????????_

**_Akaashi:_** _see you, bokuto-san. and yes, i will be dancing tonight_

Akaashi repressed his smile as he leaned into the chair. He didn’t fully understand why Bokuto felt the need to be in the club so often. He claimed to be watching for Ukai, but Akaashi could tell he knew Ukai wouldn't show. It would've been fine if they didn't have a brothel upstairs, but that wasn't thecase. If Bokuto had noticed the people leaving in pairs, he hadn't said anything.

Akaashi sighed, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach, a mixture of sick excitement and dread.

* * *

Akaashi finished buttoning up his vest, fixing the tight material as faced the mirror. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t go away, clutching onto his insides and making his skin crawl.

“Yaku?” Akaashi said, turning his head to face the smaller beside him.

“Mhm? What is it?” He answered turning on his stool and pausing his makeup routine.

“Are you comfortable with going to this client’s place? He seems a bit,” Akaashi paused while trying to think of a word to describe the man.

“Off putting.” Suga interjected from behind Akaashi. “He was eyeing every dancer in here up, and he got private sessions with half of us before settling on booking you.”

“Everyone does that.” Yaku said, doing his best to dismiss the topic, acting composed despite his hand shaking slightly.

“He was taking notes, for god’s sake, and with one of his cronies that didn’t pay anyone.” Akaashi replied, his voice, concern apparent in his usual apathetic voice.

“And there’s probably gonna be a group of them that want’s a five-some or some weird shit, it’s nothing that hasn’t happened to me before, Akaashi, Suga. I’ll be okay.” He replied, his tone final as he finished his makeup and stood up.

“Did you prep?” Sugar asked as Yaku grabbed his bag and went to leave.

“Yes, mom.” He drawled, his usual sarcastic tone faltering slightly.

“Stay safe.” Akaashi said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and kissing his cheek. Yaku didn’t even bother to reply with a snarky comment as he nodded and closed the door behind him.

Akaashi waited before he heard Yaku’s footsteps fade before speaking. 

“I’m calling Kageyama.” He said, grabbing his phone and scrolling through the contact list.

“Are you gonna be able to pay?” Suga asked worriedly. 

“He owes me a favour, he’ll do it for free.” Akaashi said without turning his head as he brought the phone to his ear. The phone rang only once before he picked up.

“Akaashi?” Kageyama asked, his voice sounding slightly strained as he answered.

“Yaku has to meet a client, I don’t trust him at all.”

“You want me to follow him?” 

“Please. He’s leaving now, I’ll text you the address. Call me if things go south.”

“Okay.”

“And Kageyama?”

“Yes?’

“Bring your swords.”

“That bad?”

“I have a terrible feeling about this guy. Hurry up, you’ll meet up with Yaku sometime if you hurry.”

“Yes, Akaashi.” Kageyama replied, and promptly hung up the phone.

Akaashi put down his phone, looking at the faces of the other dancers who had all turned their heads to listen. His eyes ghosted over their sorry features, fallen faces, and fearful eyes. Akaashi bit back his own fear and went back to his vanity.

“Get back to prep.” He snapped, eyes shooting daggers without warning. Everyone turned around and continued to get ready as Akaashi sat down, pinching the bridgeof his nose. Suga took a seat beside him as he applied his lashes, reaching out a hand to squeeze Akaashi’s. Akaashi took a shaky breath and reached for his makeup, squeezing back.

“How’d you get a favour from Kageyama?” Suga asked, drawing the subject away from Yaku. 

Akaashi let a smug smile make it’s way onto his face. “I’m keeping a secret for him. He’s putty in my hands, for the moment. Good thing, too, because I wouldn't be able to afford his service otherwise.”

Suga’s eyebrow quirked at the mention of a secret, but his lips stayed sealed.

* * *

The night started up slow, but quickened pace within an hour. Akaashi walked off stage, pulling the money from the seams of what was left of the outfit he wore as he bound it up and went to place it in his locker before walking to the floor. He hadn’t seen Bokuto yet, but assumed he was somewhere in the crowds of people.

Locking his locker, Akaashi fixed the top he wore in the mirror before leaving. A crop top paired with high waisted shorts and fishnets wasn't what he usually wore, but what was life without a little change?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped onto the floor again, walking by the bodies pressed close to the stage. He smiled at the people who recognized him, his eyes lidded and his mouth only quirked at the corners. Looking around for someone to sell to, Akaashi caught eyes with a man sitting at the bar. Taking one last look around for Bokuto, he stalked his way over, putting on an aura of nonchalance as he approached the man.

Akaashi slid a hand across his shoulder, slipping it off as he sat sideways on the stool beside him. They faced each other, and Akaashi bent his legs, placing them on the bar and spreading his legs as he spoke.

“You have amazing hair.” He said in a honey coated voice. He was lying; the man’s hair was a cheap shade of red, and looked like it hadn't been brushed in a week.

The man smiled smugly. “Thank you.”

Akaashi pouted his lips slightly as he began to speak again. “Did you get to watch me dance?” He asked, making his tone as submissive as possible.

The man’s smile grew sickeningly wide. “Of course!” He exclaimed as he began to run his hands up Akaashi’s thighs. “You were by far the best.” He added, his voice low.

Akaashi batted his hands away playfully. “If you want to touch, you have to pay.” He said, biting his lip. “We can go somewhere more private, yeah?” 

The man smirked. “No, right here his fine with me.” He said.

Akaashi’s face fell with confusion, but before he could speak again, the hand on his thigh had reached up to grab his shoulders, spinning him so his back was flush against the man’s stomach. An arm snaked around his neck, holding his head in place as the other slipped a pair of cuffs onto his wrists. Before Akaashi could scream, a gun was cocked and placed at the side of his head.

The scuffle gained attention of other people and dancers, and soon, a space was formed around them, the music shut off as the man began to speak.

“My name is Tendou Satori!” He yelled, jerking Akaashi to the side so people could see. “And I work with Shiratorizawa!”

Before he could speak again, there was the sound of another gun being cocked. Whipping his head, and Akaashi to the right, they saw Bokuto standing, both hands wrapped around a pistol aimed at Tendou’s head.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi croaked, his throat sore from the grip around it.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tendou spat, turning so Bokuto was no longer aiming at him, but Akaashi as well.

Bokuto kept his aim steady, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his badge. “Bokuto Koutarou,” He stated, a grin already evident on his features. “From Tokyo’s police force, Detective section.”

Tendou’s grip tightened, a lazy smile on his face. “Oh look at that, two birds with one stone! Boss-man’ll be proud!” He yelled, a maniac look in his eye.

“Let Akaashi go, or I’ll shoot!” Bokuto yelled, his smile dropping.

Tendou scoffed. “Look at this everyone!” He exclaimed, jerking Akaashi to show the crowd. “The cop is defending a fucking whore!”

“Don’t you dare call him that.” Bokuto warned, his voice going low. Akaashi felt his blood run cold, the grip on his neck tightening again.

Tendou laughed, a barking, cold kind of chuckle. “But that’s what he is! A hooker, a  _prostitute_ , a fucking _snake_.”

Akaashi’s eyes widened, his face falling as he looked at Bokuto, who looked equally as surprised. He would found out that Akaashi was a prostitute somehow, but Akaashi prayed that he wouldn't catch onto Tendou’s hint.

_Snake. Hebi. The Aoba Hebi clan._

Tendou laughed again. “What, you didn't know? You didn't know that precious _Gem_ ,” Tendou jabbed, using Akaashi’s stripping alias, “No, Akaashi, Akaashi Keiji. You didn't know that he bends over to ear a few bucks?”

Bokuto’s jaw set, his eyes narrowing. “No, and that doesn't change the fact that he’s a fucking person.”

“Whatever.” Tendou said, grinning as he spoke. “We have negotiations to go over.”

Akaashi swore under his breath. Whatever the negotiations contained, he knew they’d reveal his involvement in the Yakuza. Bokuto may let his illicit work get by, but if he were to find out about his connection to the Yakuza, he was dead.

Meanwhile, Bokuto devised a plan. It was impossible to shoot Tendou while he was facing him. His only chance would be when he jerks to the side to address the crowd. He took a deep breath, and prepared to taunt.

“And what do you even want?” He jeered, slapping himself at the weak jab. He was under pressure, and was doing all he could not to let his hands quiver as he watched Akaashi struggle for air.

“What do I want?” Tendou laughed. “Besides a lap dance from a whore?” He said, pulling Akaashi towards the crowd to show off his bluing face.

Bokuto took his shot without hesitating, the bullet landing stead against the back of Tendou’s head. Tender fell forwards, the momentum from the bullet pushing him and Akaashi onto the ground. Blood was already splattered on the floor, and when Tendou’s head hit the ground a second time, it made a sickening _crack_.

Akaashi, covered in blood, felt the body being rolled off of him. He stood up, his legs shaky, as someone worked the cuffs off his aching wrists. Once they were gone, Akaashi brought his hands to his throat to massage it.

Akaashi felt a warm pair of arms wrap around him, and jumped. He looked up to see Bokuto enveloping him in a hug. Akaashi closed his eyes, burying his face into Bokuto’s neck.

“There’s backup on the way.” He whispered. “I won’t tell anyone about it.”

Akaashi pulled bak, looking up at Bokuto. “Why?” He asked, his voice cool and controlled despite the trauma that he just witnessed.

Bokuto shushed him, holding him tighter. “If you’re okay, I’ll take you right to the station to do your report so you can go home quickly.”

Akaashi nodded, pulling away. “Let me get my things.”

* * *

The report, surprisingly, didn't take as long as Akaashi expected. Akaashi looked around, at the people in the station, coming in with bags under their eyes and coffee in hands. He felt like shaking his head in pity for them, only to realize the hypocrisy as he was fighting sleep while holding his heals in one hand.

“Where is your team?” Akaashi asked, watching the other officers go by.

“We don't investigate Shiratorizawa,” He stated. “They're a bunch of thieves, basically. You have so much cash on hand, it makes sense to go to a club. No one expected that to happen.”

Akaashi nodded, biting his tongue from revealing the real reason as Bokuto lead him to his car.

“Are you sure you’re not in shock?” Bokuto asked again.

Akaashi nodded. “I’m unnerved, but I’ll be fine.”

Bokuto nodded slowly, evaluating if he believed him as they stepped into the car.

The car jolted out of the parking lot, sending Akaashi’s hands to the seat as they pulled onto the highway.

The car ride was silent, the bright lights of the streetlamps shining into the car as the passed by. Akaashi took a deep breath, leaning back into the seat and closing his eyes. He really didn't want to go home and face the phone calls and worried questions, even if they needed to be answered. Biting back his pride, Akaashi opened his mouth to speak.

“Bokuto-san, may I stay at your place?” He asked, looking straight ahead.

Bokuto perked up, the car accelerating as he answered.

“Of course! I’ll make you something to eat as soon as we get there!” He exclaimed, the car jolting forwards in his excitement. Akaashi laughed, weak, but genuine. Bokuto’s elation showed how one track his mind was.

_Maybe he’s just desensitized to it, like me._ Akaashi thought. It would make sense: his job was as much a walk in a park as his was.

They pulled up to Bokuto’s apartment, and Bokuto jumped out of the car to open his door. Thanking him under his breath, Akaashi followed him in and towards the stairwell of the building.

“We don't have an elevator,” He stated as they walked the stairs. “It’s only about four or five units, but they're really roomy.”

Akaashi nodded as they began to walk down the hallway and towards Bokuto’s home. He unlocked the door, holding it open for Akaashi. Once it was closed behind him, Akaashi leaned against the wall, looking up at Bokuto, who was playing with his hands.

“Bathroom is to the left, down the hall. I’ll get you something to wear and put it in front of the door. Food’ll be done by the time you’re done your shower.” Bokuto told him. “Sorry, I’m babbling. Extra adrenaline, and all. Is there anything else you need?”

Akaashi hesitated for a moment before responding.

“Can I make a phone call?” Akaashi asked.

_I need to tell Oikawa what happened, and find out if Kageyama managed to get Yaku back safely._

When he finished calling both Oikawa and Kageyama, he hung up the phone. Following Bokuto’s instructions, he walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Looking in the mirror, he injected his appearance. There were only light bruises on his neck, the kind that would disappear within a few days and likely wouldn't affect his work too much. His eye makeup had fell under his eyes, deepening the circles and leaving him looking haunt. Not wanting to ruinBokuto’s towels, he washed his makeup with tissues, scrubbing harshly to get the last bits of dark power off his face.

When he finished, he disagreed his outfit, pulling off the top and shorts, and slipping his slender legs out of the fishnet tights. He wandered over to the shower, turning it on and testing the water before getting in.

As he stood under the soothing spray, Akaashi felt the tension wash away from his shoulders. Although the physicals knots had left, Akaashi’s mind kept going back to the fact that when he went home, he’d probably be left with no where to stay. That was dangerous, especially since Shiratorizawa was acting up.

Scrubbing his body clean, Akaashi quickly finished showering and stepped onto the cold tile. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door, seeing a tee shirt and sweatpants lying on the ground. He dressed quickly, enjoying the warmth and bigness of Bokuto’s oversized clothes. He has to roll the sweatpants to fit his waist, and he tucked it the shirt so it didn't look like a dress.

Akaashi wandered into the dining room, where Bokuto had placed two bowels on the table. The aroma wafted to Akaashi, sending a grumble through his stomach as he sat down. Akaashi didn't realize how hungry he had been, but now that he could smell the food, he wondered how he had ignored it.

“It’s just ramen, but its spicy. I hope you don't mind!” Bokuto said, a large grin on his face as he sat across from Akaashi.

Akaashi nodded, grabbing his chopsticks and trying it. Bokuto was right: it was spicy, but that was exactly how Akaashi liked it.Akaashi looked up to see Bokuto waiting for approval. 

“It’s very good, Bokuto-san, thank you.” Akaashi said. “And not just for the food, for everything. I owe you.” 

Bokuto’s smile softened “Of course! You can stay whenever you need.”

Akaashi paused eating, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth,

“Bokuto-san?”

“Yes?

“Can I move in?”

* * *

When Hinata suggested staying in bed all day, he really meant it. Of course, they both managed to sleep in past noon, but the fact remained that it was almost five pm and they had yet to move. Hinata continued to draw lazy circles on kageyama’s bare chest as he lied on it, his small legs draped over Kageyama’s torso. The setting sun shone through his window, sending beautiful shades of pink and orange to paint his bedroom.

The lull of peace was disrupted by the blaring ring of Kageyama’s cellphone. Groaning, he reached over to the bedside table where it was placed and read the caller ID. Seeing Akaashi’s name displayed on the screen, he picked it up.

“Akaashi?” Kageyama asked, his voice straining from disuse as he answered.

_“Yaku has to meet a client, I don’t trust him at all.”_ Akaashi said, his voice deadpan and to the point as always.

Kageyama felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Yaku and him had met on the off occasion, and he didn't seem anything if not loyal and kind. 

“You want me to follow him?” Kageyama asked, sitting up and pushing Hinata off of him. Hinita exclaimed something along the lines of _idiot_ as Akaashi replied.

“ _Please. He’s leaving now, I’ll text you the address. Call me if things go south.”_ “

“Okay.” Kageyama replied, slipping into business mode. He knew, even if he didn't want to, he owed Akaashi for keeping his mouth shut about Hinata. The fact that he didn't let it slip to Oikawa was payment enough. He stepped off of the bed, ignoring Hinata’s whines and protests as he began to get dressed.

_“And Kageyama?”_ Akaashi added.

“Yes?” Kageyama asked, already throwing on his jacket.

_“Bring your swords.”_

“That bad?” He exclaimed. 

_“I have a terrible feeling about this guy. Hurry up, you’ll meet up with Yaku sometime if you hurry.”_ Akaashi said, the slightest bit of concern showing in his voice.

“Yes, Akaashi.” Kageyama replied, and promptly hung up the phone.

“Kageyama, what the hell?!” Hinata exclaimed, sitting up to face him. He slipped off the bed, throwing a large shirt, probably Kageyama’s spare, over his head.

“I have to go, Hinata, I’m so sorry.” He pleaded, running out of the door and towards his car.

His swords were already hidden under the backseat from his last job, and his spare gun was in the glove box. Driving with one hand, he reached over to the box and pulled out the gun, shoving it in his back pocket as he raced towards the freeway to meet with Yaku.

As odd as it seemed, Kageyama could recognize Yaku’s car. The blue paint, with a dent in the back from where Lev backed into a post. Trailing idly behind, Kageyama tracked him towards his destination. 

The location was an old looking house in a newer neighbourhood. The majority of the houses, not even finished construction, lay untouched beside. Kageyama parked at the beginning of the street and began suiting up. Grabbing a cloth from the backseat, he tied it under his nose, concealing his mouth. He grabbed his swords and stepped out of the car. Slipping the swords onto their holsters on his back, he closed the door to the car and began walking.

Creeping along the shadows of the streetlamps, Kageyama walked to the side of the house, placing his ear close to the window and listening for conversation.

_“And you must be Yaku?”_ A low voice asked.

There was a pause before he heard Yaku speak. _“How do you know my real name?”_

The conversation ended, and the sound of scuffling took over. A yelp broke through the air, causing Kageyama to furrow his brow.

“Stay still, you fucking bitch-”

“Help me!”

That was all Kageyama needed to hear before prying open the window and jumping through, stalking his way to the entrance where he saw the back of a man facing Yaku.

Yaku’s eyes widened, and before the man could turn, Kageyama had his sword pieced through his back. Pulling it out, he looked around, seeing a group of people standing at the top of the stairs.

“Boss?” One of them said. Another growled, launching themselves down the stairs towards Kageyama. It wasn't long before the other’s followed.

Kageyama kicked the running man in the side, grabbing his gun and shooting him in the chest.

“Get to your car and lock the doors!” Kageyama shouted towards Yaku, shooting the gun again and hitting someone square in the face.

Yaku nodded as another person came towards him. Throwing the gun at his face, Kageyama unsheathed his other sword and brought one to piece the man’s stomach and push him to the ground. Using all his strength, he jumped forwards, using the sword as leverage as he flipped over the body and onto the stairs.

A bullet narrowly missed his shoulder, and Kageyama duked down, swiping a sword across the remaining three’s feet. He managed to send two to the ground, but one continued to shoot. Kageyama scoffed at his terrible aim. Kicking the gun out of his hand and pressing a foot on his chest.

Slicing his sword against the man’s throat, he used the other to slit the person beside him’s side before he could stab him with the knife. With only one man left, Kageyama pulled his swords from the dead and dying bodies and he stalked over to the man.

He shot once, twice, four times, each time missing as Kageyama dodged the bullets. Eventually he was pressed against the wall, one of Kageyama’s swords pressed against his neck.

“Who are you working for?” Kageyama asked through gritted teeth.

The man whimpered, not speaking. Kageyama barred his teeth at the lack of response, moving to press the other sword’s tip against his side.

“Who are you working for?” He asked again.

The man broke, tears beginning to stream down his face. He opened his mouth, choking out words. “Shiratorizawa! We were supposed to catch a dancer, and use him-” 

Kageyama, satisfied with the information, moved his sword across the man’s throat, sending a spray of blood onto his face and clothes. He stepped back, watching the man fall to his knees and onto his face.

A phone began to ring, and Kageyama reached into the man’s pocket to answer.

“Did you get him?” The voice asked, excited.

“Plan’s changed.” Kageyama replied. There was sputtering on the other end as he replied.

“This is one of The Three, speaking on behalf of the yakuza clan Aoba Hebi. Yaku is no longer apart of your plan.” He spat, hanging up the phone.

He sighed, tiredness sinking into his bones as he looked at the bodies littered around him. Dragging his swords behind him, he walked towards Yaku’s car, tapping on the window and motioning for him to follow him.

Yaku stepped out of the car, following Kageyama to his car instead. Kageyama placed his bloody swords on the tarped floor, then moved to sit in the drivers seat.

“Don’t ask questions, I’m not the one for answers.” He said. “I’ll drive you back to your apartment, where is it?”

Yaku nodded, telling him the address in a shaky tone so unlike him as Kageyama drove. The car was completely silent, and in no time at al they arrived.

Before Yaku could leave, Kageyama’s phone went off, breaking the silence. Kageyama looked at the caller ID, reading Akaashi’s name, and answered.

_“Kageyama.”_ Akaashi said, sounding tired.

“Would you like a report?” He asked. 

_“We can take turns. What happened on your end?”_

“Shiratorizawa. They wanted to capture a dancer.” Kageyama replied. “I killed everyone there. Yaku is safe.”

Akaashi sighed on the other line. _“They probably were gonna use him for leverage. We had a member come to the club, he used me as a hostage. Didn't get to hear he negotiations, Bokuto shot him.”_

“Does Oikawa know yet?” He asked.

_“Yeah, I already called him. Listen, I’m tired, you did your job. Tell Yaku I’m glad he’s safe.”_ Akaashi said. His tone was irritable, and he hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

Kageyama groaned, rubbing his eyes as he looked over to Yaku. “Akaashi is glad you're safe.”

Yaku nodded, looking nervous as he went to grab the car door handle. His hands were shaking, and Kageyama watched as he closed the door and ran into the building. Only when Kageyama saw him walk into the apartment building did he pull away.

Kageyama scowled as he drove. Of course Shiratorizawa had to go and fuck with them again. It was bad enough they kept trying to steal their supply of drugs and threatened to release Oikawa’s identity, now they were messing with _Diamond Eyes._

It was nearing midnight when Kageyama arrived home. Exhausted, Kageyama parked his car underground and climbed into the backseat, not bothering to sheath them as he walked to his flat. Luckily, it was on the first floor, and Kageyama had long since removed all the cameras in his building. It was an old, sketchy apartment, with peeling wallpaper and exposed brick. Dragging his tired limbs to his door, where he fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door. 

Closing it behind him, Kageyama dropped his swords in the middle of the living room/kitchen (the apartment was too small to have them separated), throwing his gear and his jacket behind him as he walked towards his bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, he didn't bother to pull the covers on top of him as he fell asleep.

Sleep came so quickly that he didn't even hear the click of the door opening early in the morning.

* * *

Kageyama woke to a dark room. He groaned, rolling over to read the time. His clock read 5:30am, much to Kageyama’s disdain. Giving up on going back to sleep, he rolled out of bed, reaching his arms over his head and stretching his sore muscles. 

Rubbing his eyes as he stood, Kageyama walked out of his room, down the hall and towards the kitchen too get something to drink. As he turned to open his cabinet, a voice spoke from behind him.

“Tobio,” It said.Kageyama whipped his head around, recognizing the voice immediately. 

_Hinata,_ He thought. Before he began to move he suddenly remembered the bloody swords sitting in the middle of the floor. His legs felt like lead as he walked over to wear Hinata was. Kageyama’s stomach dropped as he looked down at Hinata.

“When were you going to kill me?” He asked, looking up at Kageyama terrified expression.

Hinata’s face looked empty, his eyes wide and mouth slack, the corners no longer pulled into their usual smile. In his hands were two swords, coated in drying blood, some still wet enough to drip onto the floor, letting a haunting sound echo through the silent room. 

Kageyama opened his mouth, trying to find the words to speak. There was a lump in his throat, preventing him from speaking as his eyes darted around the room.

_How did he-_

“The door was unlocked.” Hinata said, answering his question as he looked back down at the swords. “It took awhile for Yachi to convince me to go after you. I’ve only been here for an hour or so.”

Kageyama nodded in disbelief, not knowing what to say as Hinata started running his hands down the blade, swiping blood off of the shining steel.

“I’ve known for a while.” He said, interrupting the silence. His didn't let his eyes meet Kageyama’s. Kageyama let out a shaky breath, falling to his knees as Hinata continued to speak.

“When we first met, I knew your brand wasn't a tattoo. I didn't want to say anything, I thought maybe you were abused or it was a fashion statement, or whatever. Eventually, I got curious.” He told Kageyama. He grabbed one of the swords by the hilt, balancing it in his hands.

“I work with the Japanese Police force as a detective, in a special investigative team in charge of hunting down the Yakuza clan Aoba Hebi. I got curious, and google is too shady, so I went to the physical records instead. I looked through hundreds of files before I realized that this mark may not have been apart of this clan’s.

“I broadened my search, looking at clans with less modern approaches. Eventually, I found one based in the western side of the country. Get access to view the files was harder, but I managed.”

Kageyama felt tears welling up in his eyes as he leaned into his hands, covering his eyes. He didn't want to hear Hinata talk about his past, didn't want to have to hear his misfortune retold.

Hinata continued to speak. “They had pictures.” He said, swallowing heavily. “Of the tattoo their assassins wore.”

Kageyama took his hands off of his face, looking forward to see that Hinata had placed the swords in front of him. Kageyama touched the tattoo on his neck, a black dragon swirling down to his collar, and averted his eyes so they wouldn't meet Hinata’s as he continued to speak.

“They also had pictures of the brands they gave to the people who break code. A geometric pattern, composed of symbols that mean _to expel._ It was hard, finding out what you could do to be expelled from the clan.” Hinata said.

Kageyama took a deep breath, finally trusting his voice enough to answer. “You graduate at age fourteen. That’s when other members of the clan can hire your services. I never knew my parents-”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Hinata spat. Kageyama looked forward, and for the first time that dark morning, met Hinata’s big brown eyes. They were filled with rage, a fire burning behind his irises as he challenged Kageyama’s glare.

“I kissed a boy.” Kageyama whispered. “He was my only friend.”

Hinata stayed silent, letting Kageyama now he could go on.

“His name was Kindaichi. He was a terrible killer, he had no aim, couldn't hold a sword or a gun. I was top of our grade. I think he envied me, or maybe hated me. I couldn't tell, I can never tell when people hate me. I specialized in swords, and he always made fun of me for that. The task, in order to graduate, is to murder another classmate anonymously. I chose another boy, Kunimi. Turns out, he was Kindaichi’s closest friend. He saw me reporting it to our superior, swords still with me, and that night, he cornered me. We fought, and I guess there was pent up feelings, because he pushed me against the wall and kissed me.

“When we were caught, I had my hands on his shoulders. He put the blame on me, and the superior believed him. I was so scared Hinata.” Kageyama whimpered. “I pulled my sword from its sheath and stabbed him in the stomach, and turned and slit my superiors neck. There were witnesses, and they had to get the senior assassins to detain me. They branded me, and left me to die in the cellar. I managed to escape. I don't know how, I was still bleeding. I just, killed. I don't remember much of that night, to be honest. By the end of it, I was in the middle of a forest, alone, coated with blood.” 

By the time Kageyama finished, tears were flowing in heavy streams down his face. He looked up, expected to see Hinata backing away. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of the shorter man crawling towards him, sitting in his lap and moving his hands to wipe the dried blood and tears from Kageyama’s face.

“How could you bear being this close to a murderer?” Kageyama choked, looking down at his lap instead of at Hinata’s eyes. He felt two hands clutch either side of his face, moving it to make sure their eyes met.

“I don’t know.” Hinata answered honestly. His eyes were softer, and so was his voice. “You’re a terrible person, Kageyama Tobio. You've probably murdered more people than I can count on both hands by the time you turned twelve, and I am _terrified_ of you. And yet, I cant help but feel like I need to be closer to you.”

Hinata’s lips landed softly on his, his mouth moving across Kageyama’s softly before breaking away to speak again.

“Who did you kill?” Hinata asked. “Last night, I mean.”

Kageyama swallowed hard before answering. “A dancer from _Diamond Eyes_ was about to be kidnapped, probably killed eventually. Akaashi asked me to watch him, and when I saw that happen, I attacked.”

Hinata’s eyes widened, confusion covering his features. “You _saved_ someone?”

Kageyama smiled weakly and shrugged. “My job sometimes requires protecting.”

Hinata shook his head, burying his face in the crook of Kageyama’s neck. He took a deep breath, inhaling Kageyama scent, trying to ignore the faint aroma of blood as he breathed.

“You- we shouldn't be doing this.” Kageyama stuttered.

“I don’t care. The police do terrible things, too, Tobio. They ignore the cases of young kids going missing and put funding into this investigation because it’s damaging economy.”

“They do good things too!”

“And so do you! We’ve both killed people-”

“Theres a difference between cold blooded murder and defending yourself.” Kageyama spat, his voice low. “Do you really want to abandon everything you’ve worked for, to switch sides for _me_?”

“Yes.” Hinata replied breathily. “The side I’m on wouldn't hesitate to put Akaashi and every other worker in prison if it'd help them. They don't car about your stories, your paths. I do.”

Hinata's eyes were wide and crazed, his jaw slack and lips pouted. He looked beautiful, and Kageyama resisted the urge to scream as he trailed a hand down Hinata's side.

Kageyama shook his head. “You’re too soft to be a police officer.”

“Then what can I be?” Hinata choked.

Kageyama paused, thinking. He had one idea, and idea that could either be their winning card or the death of Hinata.

“A mole.” Kageyama answered.

“Eh?” Hinata exclaimed.

“A spy, dumbass. You do whatever you usually do, but you let me know what’s happening. You leak information, your game plans, what you know.” Kageyama exclaimed.

Hinita leaned back, thinking. It didn't take long before he answered. “Okay.”

Kageyama let out a deep breath. “I have to talk to my boss first, before we do anything. He probably wont trust you, so you won’t meet him for awhile.”

Hinata nodded. He let out a deep sigh, untangling himself from Kageyama and standing up. Extending a hand down, he let Kageyama pull himself up off the ground.

“You need a bath.” Hinata said, scrunching his nose. “C’mon, let’s clean you up."

Kageyama nodded, secretly excited at the promise of a warm bath to soak his sore muscles. As they walked down the hall towards Kageyama’s small bathroom, Kageyama prayed that Hinata was making the right decision.

There was no turning back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn..... look at that


	10. revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to post this before i start drowning in trying to finish the last of my submissions for oihina week, so here is chapter ten, with some much needed Iwaoi Angst™
> 
> (also. by now all of the warnings are in affect, save torture, which is coming very soon. just a precaution, and dont read anything that makes you triggered or uncomfortable~)

_Your face is bruising, you realize, as you look into the mirror. The red shades have begun to fade to purple, and soon will yellow and brown. You never thought it’d get this bad, mom promised it’ll never this bad, but she lied. She does that a lot, you realize._

_The mirror swirls, you are older. The hands they smack the back of your head. You cry out. The bruises have faded from blue to black, and into yellow and back into your fair skin. Mom isn't home, and dad is yelling. Mom calls it bitching, but thats a bad word, so you don't repeat it._

_School has started by now, you remember. Dad doesn't leave bruises, instead, he’ll leave scars. His voice is abrasive and cold, and when he spits in your cereal, you flush it down the toilet instead of eating._

_The boy with spiky hair and his mom walk you to school. You went to pre-school together, his name is Hajime. Hajime likes godzilla, you like aliens. You also like Hajime, because he likes you._

_You realize you're older again. Dad’s never home, and neither is mom. Middle school, you realize, is odd. You’re the only one who lives alone, but Iwaizumi (he asked you to stop calling him Hajime the other day, you remember) always stops by, so you're not all that lonely._

_When dad comes back, he’s swearing. Mom is yelling. You don't like that on her voice, it sounds not enough like her sing song voice you're used to. You lock yourself in the bathroom, and slide down the back counter. You hear a loud bang, a scream, a cry of anguish._

_You realize that dad’s about to go back to hitting you again._

_You’re older, again, only by two years, and its odd, you think, that you've been growing up so quickly. You sleep at Iwa-chan’s most days, and he doesn't mind. You think he knows, but he cant, so you don't question it. That night, he tells you he likes boys. You spend the night crying and watching old american action movies._

_You're walking home, and you can hear the sirens. You pick up the pace, and you see a gurney being wheeled onto an ambulance. They say mom killed herself that night. You aren't sure who to believe when you watch your dad laugh with the officers that night. Everything is clammy, like the wind just changed._

_The next day, it snows. You’re confused, because it’s almost May, but you walk with your hood up towards the office building anyway. The lady in the white coat calls it depression, PTSD, and gives you white and green pills to take. She tells dad, dad hits you._

_You don't like the pills, you realize. You tell Hajime, he lets you call him that again, that they make you tired. He holds you that night when you start crying, and you think that it must be your fault._

_The lady in the white coat says that he has a ‘stressful family.’ You remember your dad: he works in Tokyo, on a Yakuza case. You say you and your day don't talk much. You don't tell her that he sometimes apologizes for hitting you and buys you ice cream. You realize it’s not important._

_She sees the scars, from him. She pins it on your medications, you're in the hospital now, and on another drug, Iwaizumi is there when you get to leave, and you're holding banana coloured pills when you step into the warm summer air._

_That summer, you tell him you like boys. Hajime smiles, and they spend the night laughing and watching The X Files with Japanese subtitles. It’s the happiest you've been in awhile. You tell Hajime that you don't hate your dad, that you were just stressed, that you know better._

_Dad is home often. You like it, because he isn’t hitting you anymore. Silly you, thinking he would ever hurt mom. High school is bearable, and you do well. One day, you decide to tell your dad you like boys. You spend the night in the bathroom, nursing the bloody nose and cut lip he gave you. It was your fault, anyway._

_He moves back to Tokyo, leaving you and Hajime alone in the second year. You tell him you’re afraid your dad will die fighting the Yakuza, and Iwaizumi says he's strong enough to make it back alive. You aren't sure you want him back, but you don't want him gone either._

_That summer, you live in Tokyo with him. You realize, you're three again, because the bruises have come back. Your skin is black and blue, but this time, mom isn't there to bandage the bruises. Neither is Hajime._

_You're bitter, like dark chocolate, and you spend that night walking through the alleyways of a town you don't know. It’s a bad idea, you know, but you have enough information from your dad’s investigation to know where to go._

_You meet a boy about your age, Suguru, throwing knives where the report said he’d be. You offer him information, he offers you acid and a lesson on throwing knifes. You pocket the former and take him up on the latter, tossing the blades at the trees and hitting them three times in a row._

_You realize Daishou Suguru is the very thing your dad hates, and suddenly, you miss Hajime. You press the feelings down as Daishou leads you into his house, introduces you to his father. He doesn't trust you, you realize, until you show him what you found. The people in the room look at you like you're an saviour, and Daishou’s father shakes your hand and lets yourjoin them._

_That summer is spent throwing knifes at large oaks and spying on your father, learning how to wrestle out of his grip and killing a boy who tries to kill Daishou. That night you wash blood off your hands and call Hajime, like you does everyday, but this time, you cry into the phone._

_On the day you're brave enough to try acid, you hallucinate a dragon swirling on the brick walls of the alleys by your fathers apartment. You throw up, you can’t get out of the swirling room, and you meet a boy with long bleached hair and horrible root his hoodie up, shivering on the streets with hollow eyes._

_The boy is named Kenma, but he insists on using his first name, Kozume. In turn, he calls you Tooru, and you bring him to Daishou’s and give him a meal. He is apprehensive, but Daishou’s father offers him a job, which he takes. The boy is younger than you, but you’re in the same year. He’s really good at chemistry._

_When the summer ends, you go back to Miyagi. You keep sending information to Tokyo, and you realize that you have enough power to tell off men twice your age in the Yakuza. It’s a weird feeling, realizing you're a member of a gang, but it’s a sense of purpose._

_That year, you spend every day with Hajime. You see your dad on weekends, see Daishou and the clan whenever you can, and in May, in the sweltering heat, Suguru tells you his father wants him to kill you. He tells you he wants to kill him, and he wants to kill your father. You realize that he must have figured out what happened, why the bruises would appear so suddenly after he came back from home._

_You go for a ride to the outskirts of town. A tour bus stops, and a boy younger than you steps out. He had a golf bag, holding something that isn't quite golf clubs. His hood falls off, and you spot a swirling dragon tattoo. You remember the acid. You push the thought away, and ask if the boy wants to go home with you. Not for sex, but for a bath, because he reeks of the forest and something akin to blood._

_He’s an assassin, or was one, at least. Suguru is delighted, they hate each other, but he doesn't care. The boy, Kageyama, keeps to himself anyways. You tell Kozume about your plan, and he supports you, surprisingly. That kid surprises you a lot._

_Before you head home one last time, you run into a boy with blonde hair. He isn't speaking Japanese, but Italian. He spots you, and bolts. You throw your knife, and it grazes his ear. You offer him a job if he has the experience. He was a mafia body guard in training, so you figure he’ll do. His name is Tsukishima, and he’s snarky at best. You like that about him._

_When you go back to Miyagi, you realize you might be in love. Hajime is so strong when he cradles you, and despite everything, you call everyday when you leave for Tokyo again._

_Your dad dies._

_You kill your father, Suguru does the same._

_That night, Suguru tells you he doesn't care for leading. You grin when he asks you to take his father’s place. You can’t determine if it’s sadistic or masochistic to feel the joy spread through your veins when you say yes. Maybe it’s both, or maybe you're psychotic._

_The smile disappears the next time you see Hajime._

_You disappear too._

* * *

Tooru surge forward as he woke, crying. Before he could begin to scream, arms wrapped around his waist, grounding him to the present. Tooru realized that he was shaking, and he began to whimper. The arms tightened, and a voice began to speak, calming him.

“It was just a dream, Tooru.” It said, husky and full of sleep.

_Right,_ Tooru thinks. _I’m with Hajime. I’m home._

If only it was a dream.

Hajime rubs his back, lying him back down. A hand slides up his chest, circling his skin as Tooru takes deep breaths, trying to steady his breathing. Hajime kissed the nape of his neck, pressing forward to nestle his head in the crook. His breaths were warm and heavy, and the steady _thump_ of his heartbeat reverberated through Tooru’s body.

Closing his eyes, he tried to will the images of his past away, but they seemed to linger on the backs of his eyelids, and lurk in the corners of his mind as sleep threatened to tug him under.

Hajime must’ve noticed that Tooru wasn’t settling, because his strong arms left his waist, causing Tooru to whine at the loss of heat and contact. Tooru turned to face him, their noses almost touching. As he looked into Hajime’s deep green eyes, he saw concern, laced with tiredness.

“Tooru,” Hajime whispered, voice hoarse. He slipped an arm around his waist, pressing his hand into the small of his back. “It was just a dream.”

Tooru shook his head, feeling the tears slip down the side of his face. “Mm, It was a memory.” He sniffed. “Nightmares come more often than I’d like.”

Hajime hushed him softly, rubbing circles on the small of his back. “Did you try writing them down and changing the ends? Like you did in high school?” He asked, his voice low.

Tooru nodded. “It doesn't work for memories, I’d be repressing and that’s counter productive. Just hold me, Hajime.” He croaked.

Hajime nodded, pulling Tooru onto his bare chest and letting him nestle there. He threw a leg over his tanned waist, latching onto his torso like koala. In return, Hajime wrapped his arms around Tooru, securing him in place.

It was warm, soft, and so much like home that it made the pair ache.

* * *

Work was more stressful than ever for Iwaizumi. Whenever they had a lead, it seemed the clan was already two steps ahead, or that the lead was a fake, unrelated. It was frustrating and annoying, like the hair that won’t stay down, or an itch you just can’t reach. In this case, the itch was a criminal organization’s leader who had evaded capture for almost ten years.

“Iwaizumi,” Kuroo said the next morning, before the sun had risen. It was common for them and Daichi to come in as early as 5:30, and with the questionable relation of the incident at Diamond Eyes and the continued search for Ukai, it seemed to be almost a regular time to show up. 

Iwaizumi hummed in response, flipping through the multiple tabs on his computer, skimming over each report. The scent of Kuroo’s cigarette some filled the room, and thank god it was early or they would’ve gotten complaints.

“Iwaizumi, I have a question.” He said, dropping a large paper file on the table in front of him.

“What’s this?” Iwaizumi asked, closing his laptop and pushing it aside.

“The case of Oikawa Koji’s murder, and let’s keep this off the record.” He said, pulling a chair up, straddling it and facing him.

Iwaizumi heard Daichi put his cup down, and Iwaizumi took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Shoot.” He said.

“I think that your Oikawa didn’t give a truthful testimony.” Kuroo told him, leaning back.

“What are you saying, Kuroo?” Iwaizumi asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m not saying anything.” Kuroo replied, keeping his voice steady. “But has Oikawa experienced or is currently experiencing trauma or depression?”

“Kuroo,” Daichi warned from across the table, but was waved off by Kuroo.

Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before responding. “He was diagnosed after his mom died.”

“Cause of death.” Kuroo demanded.

“Kuroo!” Daichi exclaimed.

“It doesn't matter, Samawara, he would've found a report anyways.” Iwaizumi said. “It was suicide. He didn't have the nicest childhood, and I don't see why this had anything to do with the case.”

“I think that Oikawa was used as live bait for the capture and murder of his father.”Kuroo said, rubbing the but of his cigarette against the table.

The room went silent, and Iwaizumi could practically hear Daichi’s look of surprise and discomfort.

“That,” Kuroo said, breaking the silence. “Or he was tortured or beat, and the screams were used as bait. We know _something_ baited Oikawa, Sr. to go to that train station, and he’s smart enough not to go without solid proof or reason.”

Iwaizumi let out a heavy breath. It was disturbing, the thought of Oikawa screeching, being rendered defenceless and beaten. He looked up from the table, meeting Kuroo’s eyes.

“I’ll ask you again,” He said, voice low. “What does this have to do with the case?”

Kuroo sighed, picking the file back up. “Absolutely nothing, except that the fugitives we can’t identify have another, practically insignificant charge.” He said honestly. “In reality, I just don't want this to go unnoticed. He’s a good man, that much I can tell from meeting him once. It’d be disheartening to see him wrecked by trauma like this.”

Iwaizumi froze, remembering the night before, his arm’s cradling Oikawa’s shaking body. 

_He knew Oikawa was keeping something about that night from him, and he knew that there had to be reason for his disappearance. Oikawa was strong, strong enough to endure the pain of being an orphan, but to do that in solidarity, to drop everyone he knew was unlike him._

_A memory,_ He thought to himself, opening his laptop. _A nightmare._

* * *

It was midmorning by the time everyone had arrived, with Matsukawa and Hanamaki arriving about half past nine, groggy eyed and looking perpetually annoyed.

“Someone didn't get their coffee.” Kuroo jabbed as the pair took a seat.

“Yeah, and you look like you forgot a hairbrush too.” Bokuto snickered. Mattsun shot him a deadly glare, and Hanamaki threw a paperclip at him.

Iwaizumi rubbed his eyes, taking a deep sigh of frustration. He had barely slept, and the constant banter and teasing that usually gave him some form of entertainment was now just giving him a headache. Even Daichi looked upset as he watched Iwaizumi’s scowl deepen.

Silence filled the room. Technically, they were attending a meeting, but it was rare that they went as planned. However, the heavy attitude that surrounded the room gave the impression that bullshit wasn’t going to be taken.

“Our biggest priority is capturing Ukai at the moment,” Iwaizumi said, standing up from his chair. “Seeing as he’s directly affecting citizens and knows the identity of the leader.”

“He’s illusive, though. We’ve rarely seen him.” Kuroo stated, leaning forwards onto the table.

Iwaizumi began to pace. “Bokuto, you said he collected from Diamond Eyes directly?”

Bokuto nodded quickly. “Because most of the money is cash.”

“Right, but do they not have a door fee and a bar?” Hanamaki asked.

“Yes and no. No to the door fee, yes to the bar, but I think it’s small compared to what’s being brought in cash.” Bokuto replied.

Daichi furrowed his brow. “I can’t help but be suspicious of Diamond Eyes then, if not for trafficking then for drugs.”

“They’re working willingly,” Kuroo said, “You can tell. Besides, Ukai is rarely there if not to pick up his pay, so the house moms must be the ones managing everything. It seems like a business where if you don’t make sure to make it appealing, you aren't getting paid.”

“Drugs seems way to risky.” Hinata said. “Why would you sell them in such a regulated area? I mean, Bokuto comes by and inspects, and they’re under a microscope already.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “I agree with both statements, meaning that Ukai might want to get out of the Yakuza.”

“I don’t think you just get out of the Yakuza.” Mattsun said.

“No, but we have a motive.” Kuroo replied.

Daichi, still unsettled, continued to press. “We know he knows the leader’s identity, and we know that this clan won’t hesitate to kill him before we get to him.”

“We don't stand a chance against their killers.” Hinata said, his voice low. 

“He’s right, one of their men can take down an entire squad. They’re trained, we need to be careful that they don't find out that we’re looking for him.” Kuroo seconded.

Iwaizumi bit his lip, turning around as he continued to pace. “In the event that they already know, Ukai would try and evade capture from them, as well.” He started.

“Meaning it’s a race to catch him.” Hanamaki finished. 

The room when silent. Iwaizumi nodded, and Bokuto let out a sigh.

“Man, we can’t even justify having round the clock watch, because he rarely shows.” Bokuto whined. “We could've had a steak out and everything.”

Hinata’s eyes lit up at the mention of a steak out, but one look from Iwaizumi had him shirking back into his seat.

“I think a good short term plan is putting his name up, calling for the public to report him. Posters, warnings, the works.” Hanamaki said, looking bored as he put his feet up. “We get so much information that way, it’d be helpful for tracking him.”

“But we don't know if the clan knows about him.” Kuroo countered.

“It’s an honest gamble.” Matsukawa agreed.

The group turned to Iwaizumi, who had paused his pacing. He raised an eyebrow before sighing deeply and replying.

“I’m taking it to a vote. In favour of releasing his warrant and advertising for reports?” He called. Hanamaki, Mattsun, and Bokuto raised their hands.

“In favour of keeping this from the public?” Iwaizumi asked.

He watched as Kuroo, Daichi, and Hinata raised their hands.

“You have the deciding vote.” Kuroo told him.

Iwaizumi nodded, thinking for a moment before responding.

“Hanamaki, Mattsun, you work on informing the public. Either way, we need information, and this course is the best we have right now.” He said.

The pair nodded, and Maki spun his chair in a mock victory dance. Mattsun snickered, grabbing the back and pulling him towards his laptop.

Iwaizumi turned to speak to Kuroo, only to hear a sharp rap on the door.

“Iwaizumi-san, someone is here to see you.” The secretary, Yamaguchi, called.

“Who?” Iwaizumi asked, walking towards him.

“He didn't leave a name sir. He did have coffee, though.” Yamaguchi said.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, secretly thankful. “Send him in.”

Yamaguchi turned, motioning to someone behind him. The man behind him smiled, and sauntered in, balancing a box and a few coffee trays in his arms.

“Heyo, Iwa-chan!” He sang, placing the box and coffees on the table. “I brought sustenance.”

Bokuto immediately shot up out of his seat, Hinata at his heels, and rushed towards the food. Hanamaki and Mattsun looked at Oikawa as if he was god, each grabbing a coffee.

“I didn't know what you took, so there’s sugar, milk, and cream in the box with the doughnuts.” Oikawa said, moving towards Iwaizumi to hand him a coffee.

Kuroo, pushing Bokuto aside to grab a turnover, smiled towards Oikawa. “Thank you, Oikawa, I don’t think any of us have slept right in awhile.” He said, surprising composed for someone who was practically wrestling his way to the coffee.

“Ah, it’s no problem, I figured you were working hard and that Iwa didn't eat breakfast.” Oikawa said, flicking Iwaizumi as he spoke, earning him a shove from Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi did crack a small smile, lacing his hand with Oikawa’s under the table.

Oikawa looked over his shoulder at Hinata. Smiling, he grabbed the last coffee and handing it to him. Hinata thanked him, slightly confused, but Oikawa seemed to think none of it, and had already begun to chat with the others again.

“Kenma seemed to think of you as moodier.” Kuroo said, smirking over his coffee.

Oikawa seemed to pause at the mention of Kenma, but Iwaizumi had already answered.

“He bitches and moans when he’s not trying to impress you.” Iwaizumi said.

“Hey!” Oikawa said, feinting hurt. His demeanour changed quickly, and he locked eyes with Kuroo. “You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”

Kuroo looked surprised. “He told you?”

Oikawa shrugged, leaning back into his chair. “I knew you were friends, but he’s showing all the signs. Kenma keeps to himself, so I usually know who he’s friends with.It was an honest guess. I’m just glad, he shows more emotion now. Usually he’s just normal apathetic, now I’ll catch him smiling down at his phone.”

Kuroo smiled, blushing slightly. He silently thanked god that only him and Iwaizumi could hear the conversation, because it was no doubt that the others would tease him to death.

“I have to leave now,” Oikawa said, speaking directly to Iwaizumi. “See you at your place, yeah?” He said.

Iwaizumi nodded, snaking his hand out of Oikawa’s as the man stood, leaning over and placing a kiss to his cheek. Iwaizumi blushed furiously as Oikawa waved goodbye, slipping out of the room.

Hinata frowned as he continued to work, somewhat confused by Oikawa’s presence. It was only after he went home that he realized a piece of paper was slipped into his coat pocket, bearing only a date (two days from now), an address (a fancy mansion home), and dress code (formal).

* * *

Iwaizumi arrived home to the scent of cooking. He inhaled deeply, hanging up his jacket and walking into the living room to see Oikawa lounging on the couch, reading. His glasses rested low on his nose, and his shirt was untucked, the first two buttons undone. He looks serene, immersed in whatever he was reading. Iwaizumi wasn’t able to watch for long, as Oikawa quickly snapped his head up, hearing him enter.

“I made some dinner, it’s in the kitchen. It should still be warm.” He said, smiling. Iwaizumi nodded, a lump forming in his throat against his will.

He wasn’t curious in the way Oikawa was, but his patience had worn thin. Ten years he had wondered why Oikawa had left, and yet, he didn't want to ask why.

He ate quickly in the kitchen, delaying having to walk into the living room where Oikawa was sitting, peaceful and unsuspecting of his question.

_Although,_ He thought, putting the plate into the dishwasher, _It’s Oikawa, you never know._

Iwaizumi walks, limbs like lead, into the living room, taking a seat in the armchair beside the couch. Oikawa looks up from his book, smiling. He opened his mouth to reply, but Iwaizumi spoke first.

“What the hell happened, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asked. He meant for his voice to be firm, but it came out angry, angry in the way that was expressed with a crack in his voice and a lump in his throat. 

Oikawa’s lazy smile fell, the book slipping out of his hands and onto the ground. He blinked several times, moving to sit up and face Iwaizumi. “You mean when I left?” He asked. Oikawa began to fiddle his hands, peeling his nails. It was a bad habit Iwaizumi remembered, one he did when he was uncomfortable or afraid.

“I mean, _why_ did you leave, Tooru.” Iwaizumi repeated. “You didn't even try to contact me, I thought you were captured, or dead, you idiot!”

“I left because I was a fucking orphan, and because I didn't want to live in the city where my mother had died, where my father taught me how to swim. That place reeks of them, and I can’t stand it.” Oikawa spat. His voice was sad, and it was bitter. His grief had gone rotten, simmering inside of him. Oikawa knew he had to watch what he said, but he couldn't keep the disgust out of his tone. He _hated_ his father, withevery ounce of his being.

“Tooru, I would’ve been your family. My mother, dad, they all loved you. They wouldn’t hesitate-” Iwaizumi started, but Oikawa cut him off.

“They’d take pity on me, like anyone else in that town would have. You know it, you know I can’t live like that.” Oikawa said, hands shaking.

“You could've told me you were leaving, or at least left without kissing me, without making me feel like we would ever have a chance.” Iwaizumi said, tears welling in his eyes.

Oikawa shook his head. “But don’t we?”

Iwaizumi shrugged, a sad smile on his face. “I don't even know. In my line of work, I can very well die tomorrow, you know that right?” He said.

Oikawa held himself back from rolling eyes, from screaming _I wouldn’t let that happen,_ but he let the other words bubble up instead.

“Is that all I am to you? A puzzle piece to a ten year old mystery you haven't solved?” He asked, his voice filled with offensive. It hurt, the idea that Iwaizumi was only doing this for information, only doing this for his investigation.

“What the fuck?” Iwaizumi said, standing up. “Do you think I would do that?”

“I don’t know!” Oikawa shouted. “I don't even know what we are in the first place.” He said, his voice quieting. 

He was crying now, the tears streaming down his face. He knew he was an uglier crier, that his eyes were probably so puffy they looked swollen, but he felt strong arms wrap around him, a forehead touch his. He opened his eyes, looking up at Iwaizumi, who was taking off his glasses.

“Oikawa Tooru, I am in love with you. Despite you leaving, despite you being an asshole, despite the fact that you kissed me ten years ago without saying goodbye, I still love you. And I know this isn't just good sex and catching up, because despite everything, you’re still my best friend, and you still know me inside and out.” Iwaizumi said, holding his face between his hands and staring into Oikawa’s eyes. Iwaizumi was crying too, fat tears lining his nose.

“But you've changed,” Oikawa whispered hoarsely. “And so have I.”

“That doesn't matter, because I love you, Tooru. I love you, I love you, I love you.” Iwaizumi said. “And I know you left because you couldn't stand it there, but Oikawa, did they ever hurt you?” He asked.

Oikawa shook his head, smiling sadly. Iwaizumi sighed, pulling him into a tight embrace. OIkawa sniffed, trying to contain the snot that was threatening to drip onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi pulled away, pressing short, passionate kisses onto Oikawa’s lips. They tasted like salt, and yet, he continued kissing him, lying him onto the couch. 

Iwaizumi turned, laying on his side so they could curl up together, Oikawa’s bare feet pressing against his, the cool of his skin sending shivers down Iwaizumi’s spine.

“Hajime?” Oikawa said, speaking into his chest.

Iwaizumi hums in response.

“I never said goodbye.” Oikawa told him. “I said see you soon.”

If Iwaizumi’s heart could swell anymore than it already had, it would burst.


	11. porcelain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains graphic violence, tortore, and body horror. read at your own risk.  
> with that being said, this is the chapter ive been itching to write since this au started.

It was around five o’clock when Oikawa received a phone call.

“Hello?” He says, already knowing what it’ll be.

_“Oikawa I’m so sorry,”_ Iwaizumi says on the other line. “ _There’s an emergency at work, someone shot through all the windows and at the secretary, fucked up some of the files-”_

“Are they alright?” Oikawa asks, lacing his voice with concern. He liked the secretary enough, it’d be a shame if Tsukishima had killed him.

“ _Yeah, he’s fine, but I can’t come to your business dinner tonight. I’m so sorry.”_ He said.

“Don’t worry Iwa, it’s alright.” Oikawa replied, pretending he was upset. 

_“No, it’s not.”_ Iwaizumi said, sighing into the phone. “ _You were so excited about this, argh. I’ll take you out on Sunday to make up for it?”_

“Alright, Hajime. I promise, I’m not upset, now go before you’re late.” Oikawa said.

Iwaizumi said goodbye, hastily hanging up the phone and leaving Oikawa to sigh.

_Now that that’s taken care of,_ He thinks.

There was an operation to take care of tonight, and Oikawa needed an excuse to dress to the nines and not have Iwaizumi come. If everything worked out, the night would end with valuable information, and a dead Shiratorizawa member.

Oikawa cracked a smile as he slipped on his suit jacket. This, by far, was his favourite part of the job.

* * *

Hinata stood, wearing his best clothes, fixing his tie in the mirror. It wasn’t until he had asked Kageyama about the note he had found in his pocket, that he had learned that Kageyama was carrying out an operation, disguised as a party.

“I guess he wants you to come.” Kageyama had said with a shrug. Hinata wasn't sure exactly who _he_ was, but he assumed it was the leader of the clan, which, in truth, scared him shitless. 

Which was why Hinata stood, fixing his tie one last time before exiting his room, stomach already turned inside out. 

Kageyama was sitting on the kitchen counter, one of his swords in his hand as he cleaned it. Hinata’s heart dropped; Kageyama looked stunning in a pinstriped suit jacket, tight pants with his hair pushed aside, his usually covered forehead exposed. It took all of Hinata’s energy not to jump him then and there.

Yachi joined them, her dress a light blue, hugging her frame in a way that seemed to make her blush. Hinata cocked his head, confused.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

Kageyama spoke before her. “Her girlfriend, Kiyoko, is a part of the Yakuza. She makes the drugs with Kenma.”

Hinata’s eyes widened, looking over to Yachi, who smiled weakly.

“She’s not working though,” Kageyama continued. “Kenma is the only one who can stomach this kind of work. You three can socialize while I work, just don’t do anything stupid.” He finished, shooting an accusing glance towards Hinata, who scowled.

* * *

Kenma straightened his collar, checking the case one last time to see if it had all the things they needed. Inside was three clear vials, several syringes, and a jar that Kenma _really_ didn't want to be reminded of its purpose.

It was going to be a long night, and Kenma took a deep breath, rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles.

Time to go to work.

* * *

The inside of the mansion was dimly lit, with the chandeliers reflecting the mood lighting set, sending it spiralling throughout the foyer. People had already arrived, busing themselves talking to each other and listening to the music being played. The Daishou estate was large at first glance, but the inside was surprisingly quaint, in terms of a mansion. It didn't stop anyone, though. The party continued on, and it was almost possible to believe it was filled with business people, rather than members of the Yakuza.

Oikawa hummed, smiling and greeting people as he passed. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to face Akaashi, outfit stunning as ever. It was a touch more risqué than anyone else’s formal attire, with a pair of short, ass hugging shorts and a white shirt, two buttons undone, it wouldn't take too much thought to guess why he was there.

“Evening, Oikawa-san.” He said, handing a chute of champagne.

“Good evening, Aka-chan.” He said. “I’m sorry, I can’t drink, I’m working.”

“So am I.” Akaashi said with a sigh. “It’s ginger-ale, don’t worry.”

Oikawa smiled, taking a sip. “What did you want to talk to me about?” 

Akaashi brought his glass away from his reed painted lips, setting it on a nearby column. “I saw Semi pass by, he’s headed into the main area.” He said. “Oh, and Ukai is here. I thought I’d let you know.”

Oikawa nodded, cracking a charming smile. “Find Yahaba and his dog, they’ll take care of it. Don’t work yourself too hard, Akaashi.” He said, turning to leave.

“You too, Oikawa.” Akaashi said, parting and heading in the opposite direction. 

Oikawa grinned, slipping into the next room. The lights were much brighter in there, the high celling opening up the room for the many people pressed inside. Bodies lay, lounging on couches, smoking against the window sills, or standing about. Oikawa caught Kiyoko’s eye, seeing her and a small blonde sitting on a couch, accompanied by none other than his newly made spy. He nodded in her direction, and flashed a smile towards Hinata. He smirked to himself, glad the ginger had got his message.

He mingled his way through the crowd, looking for the familiar head of light hair. It wasn’t long before he spotted it, and Semi, detached from the crowd and watching with a careful eye.

Grabbing a flute of champagne from a nearby server, Oikawa strolled over, approaching Semi from behind. He pressed a hand to the small of his back, causing him to freeze as Oikawa handed him the flute of champagne with a grin. He leaned close, speaking directly by Semi’s ear.

“There are no less that three men with their guns aimed at your head at this very moment, so I suggest, for your own safety, that you follow me.” He said, smiling.

Semi scowled. “And how do you know they won’t shoot you while aiming for me?”

Oikawa laughed, tightening the grip on Semi’s waist as he led him through the crowd. “Oh, Eita, do you really think I’d hire men as incompetent as that?”

Semi gritted his teeth, letting Oikawa lead him up the spiralling staircase and onto the second floor. With one final push through the door to the hall, Oikawa let Semi go, slamming the door behind him and letting Kageyama take him.

Before Semi could shout or put up a fight, Kageyama had tied a gag around his mouth, and was pulling him towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. Oikawa followed leisurely, watching as Kageyama bound Semi’s hands behind his back. 

Once they reached the end of the hall, Kageyama kicked open the door to a luxurious bathroom, throwing Semi onto the ground where someone grabbed him and pulled him out of sight. Oikawa stopped at doorway to smile lazily at Kageyama.

“Stand guard, Tobio-chan.” He said, walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Kageyama was too awkward for torture.

The bathroom was large, with dual sinks resting on expensive counter tops. Kenma stood, leaning up against the counter. He looked up, acknowledging Oikawa’s entrance. On the other side of the room was Tsukishima, loading a gun. Oikawa flashed him a smile, which Tsukishima returned with a smirk.

Finally, against the wall of the bathroom, was Daishou, sitting on the edge of the giant bathtub. He was busy securing Semi’s ankles to the chair sitting in the centre of the tub. Semi’s arms were bound to the arms of the chair, secured around the wrist. He looked up at Oikawa, eyes livid. Once Daishou finished, he sat up, flashing a toothy grin towards Oikawa.

Oikawa sighed in contempt, reaching out his arms to crack his knuckles. He rolled his shoulder, slipping off his suit jacket and pushing up his sleeves. Smirking, he looked down at Semi, who was thrashing against his binds. Oikawa reached down, untying his gag and letting Semi spit it out.

“Fuck you.” He spat, leaning forwards. 

Tsukishima raised him gun at the comment, but Oikawa waved it away. “Now now, Semi here doesn't mean that, does he?” He said, looking over to Semi. 

Semi said nothing his gaze challenging Oikawa’s. Oikawa raised a brow, looking over to Daishou, who grinned. Pulling out a knife, he slammed it down onto the arm of the chair, pressing through Semi’s hand. Semi screamed, looking down to his hand, the blood already running down his hand and dripping onto the porcelain floor of the tub.

“Kenma,” Oikawa said looked over to Kenma with a bored look in his eye. 

Kenma nodded, opening the silver case behind him. He pulled out a vial and a syringe, walking towards Semi as he unscrewed the cap of the vial. He stuck the syringe into the bottle, transferring the liquid into it. Discarding the empty vial into the sink, he leaned over Semi, and jabbed the syringe into Semi’s neck. Semi hissed as Kenma pushed down on the syringe, emptying it’s contents and forcing it into his bloodstream. 

“Now, Semi, because you’re much too stupid to understand the chemical and molecular makeup of this, we’ll call it _liquid energy_. Kenma, can you explain what this does?” Oikawa said as Semi thrashed against he bindings, wincing as the knife pressed in his hand.

“It prevents you from passing out, either from sleep or pain.” Kenma said, pulling the syringe out from his neck and throwing it into the tub. He crouched down, levelling himself so that he was on Semi’s height, their noses almost touching. Semi looked up to challenge Kenma’s gaze, but was met with wide, almost bored eyes.

“Right now, your heart is beating faster. This drug is targeting a part of your brain, and is going to practically eliminate the production of melatonin entirely. It’s currently stimulating the gland that produces adrenaline, causing you to feel very awake.” Kenma continued. Semi grew uncomfortable with Kenma’s unwavering eye contact, and Kenma sighed, pulling away to resume leaning on the counter.

“It also means,” Daishou said, walking towards Semi. “That I can do this without you passing out in pain.”

Daishou slipped another knife into his hand, and brought it down onto Semi’s other hand. Semi let out a groan of pain, biting into his lip.

“Which one of these are you the least fond of?” Daishou asked as he ran his hands over Semi’s blood soaked fingers.

“Just leave the middle one, so I can flip you off when this is all over.”

Daishou tutted. “Guess we’ll start there,” He said.

Grabbing onto the finger, he bent it back, causing Semi to hiss. He expression remained, and his mouth stayed shut.

Daishou sighed in mock defeat. “Guess we’ll have to go a bit father.” He said.

In one swift movement, he brought a knife down, hacking off Semi’s finger. Semi let out a cry of anguish as he bled out, the blood collecting at the bottom of the tub growing.

“See, Semi? This is what you get for being impolite.” Oikawa said. “That, and taking what isn’t yours.” 

Semi spat, narrowly avoiding Oikawa’s shoe. Before he could realize what he had done, Daishou cut off another finger, this time, his ring finger. Semi cried out again, looking down in terror at his fingers, or lack thereof, which Daishou was placing in a jar resting on the side of the tub.

“Fucking bitch,” Semi said, breathing heavily. “Didn’t mommy and daddy teach you to share?”

Oikawa smiled sweetly. “Oh no, mommy died before she could teach me much of anything, and the only reason daddy is six feet under is because of me.”

Semi shook his head, laughing. “You sick fuck.”

A _bang_ went off, and Semi screeched as he looked down at his thigh. Tsukishima wandered up, and kicked him in the stomach before going to stand beside Daishou.

“Now,” OIkawa said, moving to sit on the counter, feet resting on the lid of the toilet. “Why don't we start with why your friend decided to take a visit to _Diamond Eyes_ a little while ago?” 

Semi gritted his teeth, scowling. “Haven’t you worked that out?”

The comment lost him another finger, causing him to howl in pain. 

“Answer the fucking question.” Tsukishima said, pointing his gun towards Semi’s head and cocking it.

Semi stayed silent. Growing impatient, Daishou unsheathed another knife, this time stabbing him in the upper thigh. When Semi refused to speak, he twisted it, causing him to let out another piercing scream.

Semi lurched forwards, tears forming in his eyes out of pain. “Money,” He panted. “We were gonna take the money.”

“Are you sure?” Oikawa said. 

Semi nodded, and Daishou unsheathed another knife, stabbing it into the other leg and twisting.

“I’ll ask again,” Oikawa repeated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Semi cried as Daishou pushed the knife in further. He paused, waiting for Oikawa’s call.

Oikawa purposely paused, smirking. He hopped off the counter, moving to kneel in front of Semi.

“Yes, yes it’s it,” Semi sputtered. Oikawa shushed him, looking into his eyes.

The room grew quiet apart from Semi’s whimpers. Oikawa smiled, bringing his lips close to Semi’s ear.

_“Liar.”_ He whispered.

“No, no, no, I promise!” Semi screeched, tears flowing down his face. 

It was no use, as Daishou had already brought a knife down onto his remain fingers on his left hand. Semi let out another scream as Oikawa grabbed his hair, standing up and jerking Semi’s head up to look him in the eye.

“Tell the truth.” Oikawa said, his voice menacing and cool, any playful aura surrounding him vanishing entirely. This was the side of Oikawa people feared, the one that would hit until bones crunched, the one would outwit you before you realized what you were saying. Cool, manipulative, deadly. 

Semi kept his mouth shut, his lips quivering. Tsukishima kicked him in the ribs, causing Semi to gasp. He continued, landing blows to Semi’s sides until he broke.

“Trafficking!” He yelled. “Tendou was getting prostitutes to sell to the market.”

Oikawa wrinkled his nose in disgust. He sighed, walking away. 

“Semi,” He said, causally. “Do tell me how your dear Ushiwaka reacted when he heard about the death of Tendou.”

Semi continued breathing heavily, not answering the question. Oikawa sighed, and Daishou grinned, slicing a knife through Semi’s suit, slitting his right arm.

“He called for your death.” Semi spat. “And so did I.”

OIkawa pouted. “Are you sure? After all, wasn't it a cop who shot him?”

Semi scowled. “Don’t play dumb, OIkawa. We know Akaashi manipulated him somehow.”

Oikawa shrugged. “Fair. Now, you’re going to tell me what your next attack on Aoba Hebi is.”

Semi didn't respond, his eyes flicking to avoid OIkawa’s. Tsukishima clocked the gun across his jaw as Daishou cut a finger from Semi’s other hand.

Oikawa grinned. “What was that? I didn't quite hear.”

Semi growled. “Another raid on your storage supply, the east end one. You aren’t the easiest to get.”

Oikawa hummed. “One more question, Semi-kun.” He said. “Where’d you relocate your warehouse to?”

Semi furrowed his brow. “Why the hell do you care?” 

Daishou brought a knife to Semi’s head in warning as Oikawa clicked his tongue. Semi froze, narrowing his eyes.

“Telling you that would be giving you our base, practically, i’m not-” Semi stopped, realizing what he said. “Fuck. No, I’m not saying.”

In one swift motion, Daishou brought his knife up, cleanly slicing off Semi’s ear. He let out a blood curling scream, head thrashing, flinging blood everywhere. Tsukishima brought out an arm, steadying his head.

OIkawa scoffed. Staring down at Semi, Oikawa gripped onto his hair and pulled him up, forcing him to meet his gaze. Blood was flowing down the side of Semi's face, dripping onto the shoulder of his white shirt.

“The old mall, in the southern part of the city.” He panted out.

Oikawa grinned. “Now, that wasn't hard, was it?” He said, motioning for Tsukishima and Daishou to step away. “But you didn’t exactly come quietly, and I’m afraid you’re going to pay for that, Semi-kun.”

Semi whimpered, stuttering out feeble protests as Oikawa stalked forward. He reached out, using one hand to grip Semi’s hair and hoist his face up, and the other to slide up his face. Slowly, as if he was teasing a lover, he used his thumb to pry open Semi’s eyelid. OIkawa grinned manically as he pressed two fingers into Semi’s eye socket, hooking them around the eye and ripping it out.

Semi’s cry was ear piercing, and Oikawa found himself wincing at the noise. He dropped the eye into the jar along with Semi’s severed fingers and ear. Looking back over to the wailing Semi, who was now leaning over, blood flowing fast down his face, into his lips and dripping into the bath, Oikawa smirked.

“Kenma,” He called, causing the boy who was idly watching to snap his head to Oikawa. “What else did you bring?” He asked, walking over towards the sink to wash off his hand. He was lucky; no blood had splattered onto his shirt.

Kenma opened the case again, pulling out a larger vial and syringe. “Hydrogen peroxide. Pure, not the diluted cleaning shit.” He said quietly.

Oikawa nodded as he scrubbed under his nails, determined to get the last bits of blood from his skin. Kenma had already begun to make his way over to Semi, where he loaded a second syringe full of hydrogen peroxide. Once full, he stabbed it into Semi’s neck, wasting no time in injecting it into Semi’s bloodstream.

Semi’s voice had grown hoarse, and his wails were now cracked and broken. Kenma looked down at the half empty vial of h2o2 before a curious look grew in his eye. Pushing Semi’s face up, he poured the rest of the vial directly onto Semi’s empty eye socket, ripping another scream from his chest.

“Tooru?” Kenma said, dropping Semi’s face. “Why did you want me to bring the jar for his extremities?” He asked.

“Oh, no reason.” He said nonchalantly. “We’re just gonna send them to our dear Ushijima, is all.”

Tsukishima _tch’ed,_ and Daishou whispered _wicked_ as Kenma nodded.

Oikawa sighed, drying off his hands on a nearby towel. “I’m bored of his screams now,” He said, standing back. “Kill him.”

A loud _bang_ echoed through the bathroom as Oikawa tossed the towel onto the floor.

* * *

The party is nice, Hinata supposes. It’s overwhelming, and he finds his leg bouncing uncontrollably as he talks to Yachi and Kiyoko, but he manages to keep his dinner down. The champagne helps, his nerves quickly became unraveled as the bubbly liquid worked through his system. Nursing his drink, he tried his best to flash a friendly smile.

He couldn't quite shake the fact that everyone that he spoke to, each person Kiyoko introduced him to, was a criminal, and not just the petty kind. These people were organized, deadly, and exactly the sort Hinata was _supposed_ to be trying to catch. Instead, he sat in their nest, drinking expensive alcohol and mingling. He was one of them now, he guessed.

He sat, unusually quiet as Yachi and Kiyoko spoke to a woman in a blood red dress. Yachi had whispered his job, a member of another clan dealing with the organ trade, and it took all of his energy not to go white as a sheet.

“You’re upset.” A voice said from behind him. Hinata whipped around to see Akaashi, slightly disheveled, leaning against the arm of the couch. 

“I’m just overwhelmed,” Hinata said defensively, scowling.

Akaashi hummed in doubt, running a hand through his hair. “If you want, I can give you a pick me up.” He said, voice nonchalant as he turned to face the ginger, eyes half lidded and ridiculously promiscuous.

It took Hinata a moment to understand what Akaashi was offering. Once he realized, a dark blush covered his face. “Er, ah, no!” Hinata stuttered. 

Akaashi sighed, and pulled out a pocket mirror. “I figured you and Kageyama were something.” He said, replying lipstick.

Hinata sighed, looking down into his drink. “I don't even know what we are.”

Akaashi looked over, raising an eyebrow.

“Its like, we fucked once, but since the confession or whatever, he hasn't let anything more than kissing happen.” Hinata said, frowning into his drink.

Akaashi sighed, snapping his mirror closed. “Kageyama is like that, he needs validation. He will not initiate things, trust me. If you aren't blunt, he won’t pick up on it.”

Hinata nodded. “Thank you.” He said, trying to sound sincere. “That helps a lot!”

Akaashi smirked, an expression that faded as quick as it came. Just as he was about to speak, a voice cut in.

“Akaashi!” It taunted. Akaashi rolled his eyes, not bothering to face Daishou.

“What?” He asked, voice cold. Hinata looked away, not wanting to intrude on the conversation. He didn't recognize the man Akaashi was talking to, but they seemed to know each other well enough. It didn't stop him from eavesdropping.

“Well, you see, I have so much extra adrenaline, what with just torturing someone-” Hinata almost choked when he heard that, “And I have fifty thousand yen, which should be more than enough for a dance and a bit more, hm?”

Hinata let out a surprised breath into his drink, moving closer to Yachi, Kiyoko, and The Organ Woman as Akaashi continued. 

“I’m charging you extra if I find any blood under your nails.” Akaashi said.

Daishou grinned. “Ah, but you’re into that shit, right?”

Akaashi paused. “Well,” He said, shrugging apathetically as he started to walk. “You got me there. You have one hour, let’s go.”

Daishou snickered, following after him and leaving Hinata at the sidebar of an awkward conversation again. Hinata let out a sigh of relief as Organ Woman left, leaving him in relative safe company.

He usually could go hours at parties, but for some reason, the few people Hinata had met drained him of his regular extroversion. He still smiled, still excitedly chatted with the people Kiyoko pointed out to him, but the greater part ofhim just wanted Kageyama to come back so he could go home.

Amazingly, his prayers were answered when Hinata saw Kageyama walk towards him, still looking as stunning as when they left the house. Hinata’s shoulder’s relaxed, and he let a smile work it’s way onto his face.

“What took you so long?” He teased, standing up off the couch.

Kageyama shrugged. “Oi- the boss is thorough with his torture. When the other two are there, I usually just stand guard instead of doing it myself.”

Hinata’s eyes widened as his stomach dropped. “Torture?”

Kageyama rolled his eyes, stealing Hinata’s glass to take a sip. “Swords aren't the best for that job, idiot.And I’ll introduce you to the other two sometimes, though I doubt you’ll get along.”

“Hey!” Hinata exclaimed, taking back his drink. “I’m likeable!”

“Yes, but these two aren’t, dumbass” Kageyama told him. Hinata sighed, leaned back against the arm of the couch.

“Can we leave?” He asked, wincing slightly at his blunt response.

“I have to stay, there’s one more thing we need to standby for. You can go, if you really want.” Kageyama replied.

Hinata shook his head, taking a step closer to Kageyama and leaning against him. “No, I’ll wait.”

Kageyama hummed, settling his head atop Hinata’s. The room was glowing, the twinkling chandelier sending a sparkling light down onto the floor. In the distance, a soft hum of jazz music and live piano were playing, calming the pair’s nerves, if only for a moment.

Hinata broke the silence when he remembered something, the question bubbling up.

“Kageyama?” He asked, taking his weight off the taller boy to look him in the eye. “Why did I see Oikawa-san here?”

Kageyama froze for a moment, seeming confused. He regained his composure, sighing. “Oikawa is tricky. You’ll know who he is soon, I guess, or whenever he wants you too.”

For some reason, that sent shivers down Hinata’s spine.

Just as the two began to lull into a comfortable conversation, a man walked up to them, his dress shirt ruffled and sporting a tear.

“Kageyama,” He said, his voice sounding serious. “Where’s Oikawa?”

Kageyama cocked his head. “Yahaba? Weren’t you going to get-”

“Ukai, yes, but he’s already nearly killed me, and Kyoutani can only fight him for so long.” The man, Yahaba said. 

Kageyama swore, rolling a shoulder before pulling Yahaba through the crowd and towards the staircase. Hinata, his curiosity always getting the best of him, trailed after them, listening as they spoke.

“My swords are upstairs, Oikawa should be around here.” He said, letting go of Yahaba’s sleeve and dashing up the staircase. Yahaba swivelled his head around before spotting Daishou and Oikawa talking.

“Oikawa-san,” He said, butting into the conversation. “We need help.”

OIkawa rolled his eyes. “Yahaba-kun, The Three shouldn’t be needed for something like this.”

“He had backup.” Yahaba shot back, and Hinata stood by, eyes wide.

Oikawa sighed heavily, shooting Daishou a glance. “Go meet with Mad dog, give him a hand.” He said. “Tsukishima is still guarding the main floor, I can’t have him leave. Where the hell is Kageyama?”

“Getting his swords.” Yahaba replied.

Just then, Kageyama dashed down the stairs, not noticing Hinata hiding behind a pillar.

“I saw from a window, they’re outside.” He said. Daishou flashed a wicked grin, and darted towards the exit, the rest racing after him, with only Oikawa walking behind.

Hinata continued following him out of the mansion, making sure to stay out of sight as he met back up with the group. A man was laying on the ground, blood seeping through his white shirt.

Yahaba rushed towards him, kneeling down and staring with obvious fear at the wound. “Kyou, are you, how did-”

“Fucker had a gun,” The man, Kyoutani said. “Only brought it out once you left. I managed to get his other cronnie, but once it was just us, he pulled it out.”

Yahaba swore, moving to unbutton his shirt with shaking hands. Hinata stood, watching with scared eyes.

“Can you not do you fucking jobs?” Oikawa spat, his voice filled with venom. Yahaba was hellbent on ignoring him, instead tending to Kyoutani’s wounds. Kageyama noticed, and an idea formed. 

“Go inside, ask for Yachi, she should be with Kiyoko. She’s a nurse, she’ll be able to help.” Kageyama said, practically ignoring the fact that there was a man bleeding on the ground. 

“Where did he go?” Oikawa growled, looking pissed.

“Towards the cars, he just left.” Kyoutani grunted.

Before Oikawa could say anything else, Daishou bolted, jumping the fence and ducking into the nearest car. He must’ve had the keys, because the car roared to life. They all made their way over, Hinata unconsciously following whilst trying to stay hidden.

“Can we all fit? There’s three of us. Kageyama asked, climbing into the passenger’s seat. 

“You mean the four of us,” Oikawa said, reaching behind him to snatch Hinata, who was trying to dash away. “Hinata-chan has been following us.”

Before Kageyama could protest, Oikawa had tugged him in, and thrown him into the back seat, obviously not meant for another person. Daishou was already driving, racing down the speedway as they met up with the car belonging to Ukai.

“Oikawa needs to stay at the party, idiot.” Daishou snapped, swerving the car as he reached for a knife strapped to his thigh. “Steer while I throw.”

With one motion, Daishou had rolled down the window, letting go of the wheel. Kageyama grasped onto it, keeping the car steady as Daishou leaned out and tossed his knife, breaking through the car’s back window.

Daishou pulled himself back in, grabbing another knife and taking the steering wheel back. He accelerated, pulling up towards Ukai’s car. Throwing another knife, he hit the front wheel, puncturing a hole large enough to cause the car to spin onto the side walk.

They were well into town now, around the main hospital block. Quiet apartments of unknowing people littered the street, and none of them seemed to care as Ukai jumped out of the car, firing a gun in their direction before bolting.

Daishou cussed, throwing open the car door. “Stay with your boyfriend, Samurai.” He said, dashing out onto the street to follow.

Hinata let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Kageyama looked back at him, anger boiling in his eyes. “Why did you follow me? You could’ve been killed.” He spat.

“Excuse me, but I was trained for these sort of things too!” He exclaimed. Kageyama sighed, shaking his head in realization that neither of them would win this argument. His anger and fear of Hinata getting hurt continued to sit under his skin, but he bit his tongue.

HInata sighed, leaning back as far as he could in the small space. “Will he be alright?” Hinata asked, referring to Daishou.

Kageyama nodded. “He can take care of himself. Besides, Kyoutani beat him quite a bit, he won’t get far.”

Meanwhile, Daishou was not having any issues at all.

In fact, you could almost say he was having fun, running after Ukai through the various alleyways, throwing a knife every so often, landing a few in the man’s arm.

“Oh, Ukai!” He sang, practically skipping around the corner. “Come out come out wherever you are!”

He heard a shuffle, and a _bang_ as bullet missed him by a foot. Daishou chuckled, racing forwards. They were quite close to the hospital now, but Daishou didn't mind. He raced around another corner, hearing multiple gunshots, and prepared another two knives in his hand.

When he rounded the corner, he saw another man, this time, holding Ukai in a headlock, with his badge hastily displayed. Daishou recognized him, and he cracked a wide grin.

“Oh, Daichi! So nice of you to hold him down for me.” Daishou said, stalking towards the pair.

Daichi’s eyes widened as he spotted him, and his griped on Ukai loosened enough for the man to struggle out of his grip. Daichi maintained a hold, but they were now scuffling, both trying to hold the other down.

Daishou watched, clearly amused. He considered his options: It was hard to get a direct kill from the way they were fighting, but both were targets, so throwing wouldn’t hurt. With a new objective, Daishou surged forward, tossing his knife. He let out an internal cheer as he watched it pierce into Daichi’s back, causing the man to fall onto Ukai with all of his weight.

Ukai managed to push Daichi off of him, leaving Daishou with a clear path to throw his knife, aiming directly for his chest. Instead, Ukai moved last minute, leaning down to duck away, and the knife lodged into his neck, a much worse wound.

Ukai’s blood spurted out of his neck as he instinctively reached for the knife to pull it out. The bleeding worsened, and he collapsed, hitting the floor with a _crack_ , his limbs contorting as he fell. Daishou snickered, walking towards him to finish him off, only for a hand to grasp his ankle and attempt to pull him down.

“Hey!” He exclaimed, wrenching his foot out of Daichi’s grip. “Are you still fighting after that?”

Daichi was wielding a blood soaked knife, the one from his back. He stood, his legs shaky as he attempted to throw it at Daishou, only to wince at the movement and miss. Daishou cackled, his laugh cruel and high as he lodged a knife into Daichi’s shoulder, reached around and stabbed another in his thigh. Pushing him onto the ground so Daishou had him pinned, he grinned.

“I was thinking of killing you quickly, but honestly, this is much more fun.” He said, pulling the knife from his shoulder and slicing through Daichi’s shirt. The cut sliced across his chest, letting the blood seep into the fabric. 

Daichi yelled, his voice hoarse, but that only made Daishou laugh louder as he moved to grab his arms and pin them by his head. Pulling the sleeves down, he brought his knife down vertically, watching as the blood gushed from the large vein.

“God,” He said, smirking as he continued to slice different areas of Daichi’s body. “Death by blood loss is so fun.”

Daichi tried to move, but his strength had diminished already. Daishou clicked his tongue in mock distaste, bring his knife across his lower stomach. He sliced, not deep enough to spill his innards, but cleanly through Daichi’s muscles that laid there.

Before Daishou could move to his legs, he heard a shout, and scuffling. “Daichi!” The voice called. Daishou’s eyes narrowed, and he wiped the blood that had splattered onto his face off. He recognized the voice as Kuroo, and he knew he would be coming with backup.

With a heavy sigh, Daishou turned to Daichi, who was still conscious. “Hate to end our heart to heart, love, but I have to run. I’ll make this quick, yeah?” He said.

Grasping firmly onto Daichi’s hair, he smacked his head against the pavement, causing Daichi’s eyes to shut and his body to go slack. Daishou darted up, moving to throw one more knife at Ukai’s heart for good measure, before darting away into the night. When Kuroo arrived, Iwaizumi trailing behind, the pair found the body of a wanted man, and a partner who was on death’s door.

It was a busy day for both sides, indeed. 

* * *

Iwaizumi sat in the waiting room, rubbing his tired eyes. His phone went off suddenly, snapping him out of his trance.

“Hello?” He answered, doing his best to sound professional.

_“Hajime, are you okay? I know you’re working, but I was gonna stay up until you got back and it’s almost three am.”_ Oikawa asked on the other end. 

Iwaizumi sighed, leaning forward in the uncomfortable chair. “There was another incident, Sawamura got hurt while trying to catch someone we were looking for. He’s in the ICU right now, he lost so much blood.” Iwaizumi said. His bones felt heavy as he spoke. Daichi was transferred from the squad dealing with another gang, so Iwaizumi didn't know him as well. Still, the pain racked his chest when he saw Daichi’s pale body being pushed into the emergency room.

_“Oh my god,”_ Oikawa said, his voice quieting. _“Is, is he going to recover?”_ He asked, his voice cracking slightly through the phone.

Iwaizumi felt a surge of emotion as he took a deep breath. “Yeah, he has common blood so the transfusions shoulder work, but they’ll likely have to induce a coma.” He told Oikawa. He saw Kuroo walk towards him, and he let out a sigh. “I have to go, Tooru. I’ll see you soon, and we can still go on Sunday, I promise.”

_“Night, Hajime. Stay safe, don't work too hard, I love you.”_ Oikawa said.

“Love you too.” Iwaizumi replied, and swiftly hung up.

Kuroo shook his head, sighing deeply and sitting beside Iwaizumi. “I just talked to his doctor,” He said. “They won’t let anyone but family in until later tomorrow, by the sound of it. He’s stabler now, a few hundred stitches and staples. They can’t tell how long the induced coma will last, but he has brainwaves, so he’ll wake up. The injury to the head was a pretty bad concussion, so he’s lucky.” 

Iwaizumi nodded. The atmosphere around him was grave, and he could feel the tension from Kuroo seeping into him.

“Listen, Iwaizumi,” He said, standing. “Everyone else will visit him in the morning, you can go again then. I know you feel some sort of responsibility as the leader, but Daichi took the risk. The doctors and nurses know what to do, they’ve handled patients like this before and he will be okay. C’mon, let’s go.”

Iwaizumi sighed, pulling himself to his feet. He felt bad for leaving Daichi, but as they walked out of the starkly lit waiting room, passing a woman who he recognized as Daichi’s mother, he could feel the tiredness hit him. He knew Daichi would be okay, but the sinking feeling in his stomach remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) would you look at that


	12. softener

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at that....... a chapter  
> get ready..... calm before storm........  
> kind of...............  
> seriously....... enjoy this while it lasts........

It was late morning when Akaashi woke. He pulled his phone from the nightstand to check the time, half past noon. The sky was dark with rain clouds, and Akaashi assumed the dark sky was what let him sleep.

He could vaguely remember coming back to Bokuto’s, no, their apartment, kicking off his heels and stumbling into bed in a fit on exhaustion. The wrinkled button down that he still wore was proof that he was too tired to even change.

With a heavy sigh, Akaashi swung his legs off the bed, wincing slightly as he stood. The soreness spread throughout his body, making his movements stiff as he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shorts.

He padded barefoot to the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. His reflection stared back at him, dark eyes half lidded, and, _fuck_ , he thought, bruises forming on his neck.

Akaashi scowled as he brushed his teeth. He didn't have many rules, but of course, there’s always someone who won’t listen. Bite marks littered his neck, some forming teeth, trailing down to his collar bone. His hips weren’t too bad, the fingertip marks would only take a day to fade. Sighing, Akaashi stepped into the shower, turning the water on scalding as he scrubbed away at his skin.

The move to Bokuto’s apartment turned out to be a good idea, lessening the strain on his account and giving him room to breath. It was still somewhat odd, he wasn’t quite used to the water pressure in the shower, and he still didn’t know how to work the coffee maker, but he wouldn't trade it away for a flat he couldn't afford.

Besides, the roommate was good company.

Turning off the facet, Akaashi stepped out of the shower, towelling off his hair. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and returned to his room, dropping it so he could throw on a pair of worn skinny jeans and a soft crew sweater. The sweater was much too big, and a horrendous shade of mustard, but Akaashi didn't mind, rejoicing in its warmth as he grabbed his phone and made his way to the kitchen.

Just as he finished pouring his coffee, the sharp ringtone of his phone went off. Akaashi let himself relax as he answered, eyes softening as the image of a younger girl popped up onto his screen.

“Hello, Onee-chan.” He said, curling up into an armchair.

_“Akaashi,”_ His sister said. _“It’s been forever.”_ She said, sounding just as relieved as he felt.

“I’ve been busy, Eshima, I’m sorry.” Akaashi told his sister. “How’s the family you’re staying with? Are they treating you nice?”

Eshima sighed. _“I’m in a children’s home now.”_ She said, sounding tired. _“Social workers want the families for the younger kids.”_ Her tone was bitter, and Akaashi’s face fell as he put down his mug.

“Did you get the money I sent last month?” He asked.

_“Yes-“_

“You put most of it towards university, right?” Akaashi pressed, his voice growing stern.

_“Yes, Keiji, I did, I promise.”_ She said. “ _And the rest is being spit for liking expenses once I’m on my own.”_

Akaashi sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Two years.” He said, voice tired.

Eshima hummed in response. The line was silent before she spoke again.

_“Keiji, why won’t the social worker’s let me stay with you?”_ She asked, her voice sounding pained. _“They say your job isn’t sustainable, but they know you’re giving me huge portions of your salary. How do you even stay alive, Ani-chan?”_

“I have a roommate now. I moved in with him a little while ago.” Akaashi told her. 

_“You didn't answer the original question.”_ She said. Her eyes were cool and challenging, and Akaashi had a feeling she wasn't going to let up.

“I don’t want you getting involved in my line of work, Eshima.” He said, turning to grab his coffee mug.

_“I’m sixteen, I can handle myself!”_ She exclaimed, her brow furrowing. Her angry expression dropped however, when she spotted the bruises littering his neck.

_“Keiji,”_ She said, her shaking. _“Explain. And don’t tell me you have a girlfriend, because you would've told me.”_

“It’s nothing, Eshima, and my job isn't any of your concern, neither is this.” He snapped, rolling his eyes at the mention of a girl.

His sister’s face fell, her eyes softening as she put the pieces together.

_“Keiji,”_ She said, blinking fast. _“You, you aren't a_ hooker _, are you?”_

Akaashi sighed, tipping his head back, dry laughter spilling out of his throat.

Eshima’s eyes widened, her mouth opening in surprise. _“What the fuck?”_

“Language,” He warned, looking back at the camera with a look menacing enough to make her wince.

_“Keiji, why? How?”_ She asked.

“I’m a high school dropout, Eshima, and I have a pretty face. Men with to much time on their hands pay lots, and the money is letting you stay alive, so it works out.” He stated, his voice nonchalant.

_“Men?”_ She exclaimed, her voice rising another notch. Akaashi winced, forgetting he hadn’t told her about anything of the sort. He opened his mouth to respond, but Eshima cut him off.

_“What would mom have thought?”_ She spat. _“You sleep with people, no, with **men** for money, is that how you tried to keep us alive?”_

“I managed to, didn’t I?” Akaashi shot back, voice icy.

_“No, because mom died two years after you left.”_ Eshima said, voice bitter.

“What was I supposed to do?” Akaashi spat. “She was dying, Onee, we couldn't afford the bills for the treatment.”

“Maybe you could’ve gotten an actual job, one that would earn enough for her to make it.” She yelled, her voice cracking. Tears were brimming in her eyes.

Akaashi didn't know what to as he stared down at his hands, mouth slack. “You were five, I was desperate, I couldn’t, Eshima, I-”

“God, I was so stupid.” She said. “Don’t talk to me until you have an actual job. Send me all of your dirty money, I’ll take it, but I won’t speak to you ever again.” She spat.

Akaashi didn't even try to fight as the screen went blank. There was a knot stuck in his throat, but tears weren’t in his eyes. He cracked a feeble smile, leaning back into the armchair.

_She’ll take the money,_ He thought with a smile. _She’s gonna take it, and she won’t have to be wrapped up in any of this._

It was bittersweet, but he clung to the one good effect. His baby sister would be safe. She would be alright.

As he shut his eyes and leaned back into the chair, he heard the door click. He cracked open one eye curious as to where Bokuto had been. He was supposed to be off on Sundays, so the fact that he wasn't there in the morning was a surprise.

Bokuto walked through the door rubbing his eyes, a stretched out groan humming out of his mouth.

Akaashi frowned, sitting up and looking towards him. There were a few possible reasons for his dejected state

1\. He went for a jog and they didn't have his flavour of after-workout smoothie at the store. This idea was shot down when Akaashi saw him dressed in everyday clothes.

Option two, less likely, was groceries, but he had no bags with him. Three, maybe he had saw a pretty animal only to watch it be squashed by a car?

Akaashi sighed, biting the bullet and speaking up.

“Bokuto-san, are you alright?” He asked, staring as Bokuto flopped down onto the couch beside him.

Bokuto groaned, mumbling something unintelligible from the pillow.

“Bokuto-san, I can’t understand you.” Akaashi said, rolling his eyes.

Bokuto rolled over, sitting up slightly to face Akaashi. “Can you come over here?”

Akaashi cocked his head at the request, but stood from his seat to move over to the couch. As soon as he sat down, he was pulled into Bokuto’s embrace, his arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding him there. _Oh,_ Akaashi thought. _That’s what he wants._

“I can charge you less because I live with you. I worked a lot last night, and I’m all bruised, so I’ll discount for that, too.” He told Bokuto.

Bokuto pulled back, giggling slightly. “I just wanted a hug, Akaashi.”

Akaashi’s face fell. “Oh.” He said, cocking his head.

Bokuto sighed, leaning back onto the couch, pulling Akaashi down with him. “You looked sad, and I’ve dealt with too many emotions for one morning.”

Akaashi squirmed, turning so he could lie on Bokuto’s chest. He could feel his heartbeat beating against his own ribcage as he spoke. “You could tell?”

Bokuto nodded. “You just seemed, off. Your eyes weren’t as focused and sharp as usual, is all.”

Akaashi hummed in response. “What about you? What happened?”

Bokuto sighed, chest heaving up and down. “You’ll get an official report soon, but Ukai was a killed last night.”

Akaashi perked up, furrowing his brow to listen. He remembered hearing about it through Yahaba, as he watched him and Kyoutani get stitched back together. Everyone was so busy, so he hadn’t had time to find out the story.

Bokuto continued. “It was this one really dangerous hitman in the Yakuza who did it, which is troubling, because we assumed they'd protect him to an extent. I guess they were fed up with him too.” He said. “But that’s not why I’m upset.”

Akaashi rubbed lazy circles on Bokuto’s bicep. “Why were you?”

“The hitman almost killed one of the guys I work with.” He said. “Samawara, that’s him, caught Ukai, but Daishou, the hitman, was there. He didn't stand a chance. He’s all cut up, has a few hundred stitched, they had to induce a coma. He lost, like, forty-five percent of his blood, and has a concussion. Doctor’s say it’s a miracle he’s alive.”

Akaashi nodded, continuing to draw lazy circles on Bokuto. Of course, the man didn't stand a chance against Daishou. Akaashi wondered in the back of his mind, what Bokuto would think if he knew that Akaashi got on his knees for him. Akaashi hummed, not knowing what else to say. He was never good at comforting other people.

Bokuto didn't seem to mind, Akaashi’s presence being enough to calm his nerves considerably. A hand reached forward, and Bokuto tangled his fingers into Akaashi’s raven hair. Akaashi kept himself from flinching; it had been awhile since anyone had done that to him. 

The motion was grounding. Akaashi’s heart fluttered, for a split second. He snapped open his half shut eyes, and stopped his breathing. The feeling in his chest lingered, even when he shut them again.

* * *

Work was, as expected, hectic.

Oikawa stopped by, in person, nonetheless, explaining in detail of what had happened the night before. Yahaba was there, sulking behind him. 

“So you chose to stay?” Oikawa asked, leaning against the empty bar. It was only early evening, people wouldn't be arriving for awhile.

Akaashi shrugged. “You’re a good boss, Oikawa-san. Besides, I’m already too attached to this lifestyle, not that I don't like it.”

Oikawa nodded, his guard dropping, allowing Akaashi to read his face. It spoke louder than any words he could say, practically screaming _I understand._

_“_ Anyway, we have a new manager. One that won’t steal half the money, right Yahaba-chan?” Oikawa said, his smile returning.

Yahaba looked up, eyes blank as he rolled them.

Oikawa shrugged, leaning close. “He fucked up yesterday, but he’s also grown attached to his Mad Dog. It was a matter of time before I had to separate them.” He said, voice chilling as he whispered.

Akaashi nodded. That was all Oikawa needed, the man left with his stellar grin, waving as he turned to leave.

For the first night in years, Akaashi had a few less things to worry about.

For one, Yahaba could handle a gun. That, and he would handle all of the paperwork Akaashi was forced to do before. There was a kind of weight lifted off his shoulders, allowing him to slip into his performance with ease.

But besides it all, Akaashi couldn't shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that kept pulling him back towards the thought of black and white hair and big, brown eyes. 

It wasn't until he was cleaning himself up, getting ready to leave that it hit him.

He _liked_ Bokuto.

Akaashi slammed his locker with force loud enough to make the other dancers jump. He muttered an apology, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he left through the back, mind already swarming.

He had dated people before, sure, but nothing ever seemed to last. No one he was ever with could stand the sight of kisses left from phantom men, and the idea of Akaashi’s work seemed to scare them away. So, yeah, maybe it had been awhile since he dated, but it had been even longer that he had felt the way he felt now: like his stomach was going to push itself out of his throat.

And hell, he had opened up to Bokuto more than anyone he knew. Bokuto knew things about him that he never was able to tell. Bokuto knew that he had a soft spot for sour candies, that he loved chocolate cereal, that he often spends the witching hour pacing. Bokuto had found out that he sleeps on the right side of the bed, that he sleeps on his stomach, that he keeps his lips parted as he sleeps.

And in turn, Akaashi learnt a list of Bokuto’s idiosyncrasies. He knows that Bokuto loves slushies and sour candies, that his workout regime is frankly, impossible, that he buys milk solely for his cereal. Akaashi knew that he counts to ten before he says something when he is scared, that Bokuto sleeps with his feet out from under the blanket, that he wakes up before dawn most days.

And _fuck_ , Akaashi thinks, he knows that he is undeniably in love.

So, when Akaashi gets back to Bokuto’s- _their_ apartment, he throws his bag in his room, takes a shower, throws on the overlarge sweater from the morning, and walks right into Bokuto’s room.

Bokuto is lying on his bed, absentmindedly reading. Akaashi ran towards him, jumping onto the bed. Bokuto snapped his head up, putting down the book only for Akaashi to crawl into his lap and grab his cheeks, pressing his lips against his own.

Bokuto melted into the kiss, his hands moving to slip around Akaashi’s sides, holing him in place. Akaashi broke the kiss, sitting back onto his thighs to look down at Bokuto.

“I am in love with you, did you know that?” He said, looking down with wide eyes. “I love you, and, god, I really hope you even feel half as strong as me, even if I sleep with people and dance naked for money, I just really want for you to hold me.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened, a smile forming on his lips. “Really?” He asked, his voice light in amazement.

“Really.” Akaashi confirmed, his smile softening. “What about you?”

Bokuto grinned. “It doesn't matter what you do, Keiji, that doesn't change how I feel.”

And Akaashi melted, falling into Bokuto’s embrace again, bringing their lips together to kiss again. It was all teeth, the both of them were smiling too much for the kiss to be any good, but they didn't care.

Akaashi rolled off Bokuto so that he was laying beside him, and began to speak. 

“I was sad because my sister called me today. She found out I was gay, and that I’m a sex worker, and lost it. It hurts, Bo, because I dropped out of school at sixteen and moved here to keep her and my mother alive, and even if I only saved _her_ , I did something. She's in a children’s home now, she has two more years. I’m not worried, she should have enough for housing and university, she's so smart, she’ll get a scholarship for sure, but it’s hard, it’s hard to think she won’t talk to me because of this.” Akaashi was shaking slightly, because that was a lot of words for him.

Bokuto’s eyes softened, his arm reaching around Akaashi’s waist to pull him close. “You don't have to tell me this, Keiji.” He said softly.

Akaashi shook his head. “No, I need to tell you. You need to know about me before going into this. I moved to Tokyo at sixteen, met Ukai, who offered me a job. It was just me and Suga in the beginning, working alleyways and street corners in shifty neighbourhoods. My mother died two years after I left, and by then, child services had no claim on me. Of course, I couldn't house a seven year old, so she went to a home. I still sent her money, though. Somewhere along the line, he got a club, and things got better, we got more cash. I like to dance, so the performing aspect came easy for me. I sent money back to her, and I’ll continue until I can’t anymore.” He said.

Akaashi took a deep breath, leaning close into Bokuto. “I want to hear more about your family, about your single mom and four younger sisters who try to flush each other down the toilet. I want to meet them too.”

“Ma wouldn't care about your job. She’s the type of woman to cook a huge meal, and bring it to the shelters or children’s home. We always fostered animals, too. It’s lonely in the countryside, I like the city better, but it’s still nice to go back. You can come with.” Bokuto said.

Akaashi hummed into his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat as he began to lull into sleep.

“Hey, ‘Kaashi?” He asked.

Akaashi hummed. “What is it, Bokuto?”

“You can call me Koutarou, if you want.” He said.

Akaashi smiled, snuggling closer into Bokuto’s embrace.

* * *

“Drinks?” Akaashi asked, running a hand through his hair. 

It was a Thursday evening, and Akaashi’s day _off_ , a concept he wasn't quite used to. Bokuto was standing in front of him, leaning against the kitchen counter where Akaashi was perched.

“Yeah!” Bokuto exclaimed. “You can meet all my friends, coworkers, whatever, it’ll be fun!” 

Akaashi pursed his lips as he reasoned with himself. In reality, there was no harm in going out, except the foreseeable awkwardness for his coworkers when Bokuto announced they were dating. 

With a sigh and a small smile, Akaashi nodded. “Sure,” He said, hopping down from the counter. “Just let me put some pants on.”

Bokuto grinned, silently cheering.

The bar they arrived at was nice, with worn wood mixed into an urban interior. The lights were a slightly dimmed orange, and Akaashi felt his shoulders react as Bokuto led him over to a booth where four people already sat. As they approached, the tall man, with a mess of black hair stood, waving him over.

“Bro!” He exclaimed. “You showed up!”

“Of course!” Bokuto said back, a grin splitting across his face. “Kuroo, this is Akaashi.” Akaashi smiled, shaking Kuroo’s hand. 

“Those two are Matsukawa and Hanamaki, respectively,” Kuroo said, motioning to the two to his left. “And you’ve met Hinata, right?”  
Akaashi nodded. “Through the investigation.” _And a party full of Yakuza members. No big deal._ Akaashi took his seat next to Bokuto, the other already speaking again.

“You didn’t bring Kenma?” Bokuto asked Kuroo.

Kuroo shook his head. “He doesn't like large groups.”

Akaashi kept his expression nonchalant as he spoke. “Kenma talks about you, you know.”

Kuroo perked up. “You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s my friend.” Akaashi responded. Kenma didn’t often mention Kuroo, probably because he didn't want anyone to figure out his profession, but it wasn’t very hard to figure that out.

“Where’s Iwaizumi? Don’t tell me he skived off to work?” Bokuto asked, changing the subject.

“No idea.” Hanamaki said, taking a sip of his drink. “He bitches when we’re late, I wonder what’s the hold up.”

Hinata stood up, looking around people’s heads. “I think I see him.” He said, straining his neck to make up for his height.

“Does he have his lover-boy with him?” Matsukawa asked.

“Yep.” Hinata said, sitting back down. Hanamaki sighed, slipping Matsukawa ¥500. Akaashi rolled his eyes at the betting, secretly curious as to who this would be.

He soon found out, when he saw a tanned man he assumed to be Iwaizumi, followed by no other than a smug Oikawa Tooru. They were both slightly disheveled, with Oikawa’s hair looking endearingly ruffled, and Iwaizumi’s shirt collar flipped, almost as if they had-

“Oh my god, could you not keep it in your pants?” Hanamaki whined.

Oikawa flashed a pretty grin, taking a seat across from Iwaizumi, who was scowling. The man noticed Akaashi, his eyes lighting up with interest.

“Akaashi!” He exclaimed, sending him a grin. “So _this_ is your new roommate!”

Akaashi hid his confusion with apathy, flagging a waitress to order a drink. “Bokuto, meet Oikawa.”

“You know each other?” Iwaizumi asked.

Akaashi nodded, trying to figure out _why_ Oikawa was hanging out with detectives. “He’s a friend.”

Kuroo whistled, leaning back into his chair. “Small world.” Akaashi sighed. Small world indeed.

The night passed by smoothly, with Akaashi proving he could hold is liquor better than anyone at the table, much to Bokuto’s dismay _(I wanted to see what you’re like wasted, Keiji!)._

Akaashi, did however, become intoxicated enough to lean up into Bokuto, curling into his side. He was a clingy drunk, he would be the first to admit it, and there was little that felt better than Bokuto’s arm wrapped around his waist. 

He’d ask about Oikawa in the morning.

* * *

Oikawa, as it turned out, had his own plans.

There he sat, beside Kenma, in Oikawa’s lavish penthouse. Akaashi shifted awkwardly as he poured them each coffee, it was still morning, before leaning against the counter, his smile charming, but his eyes ice cold.

_Oh god,_ Akaashi thought as he sipped his coffee. _That’s his murder stare, he’s going to kill us._

“That’s not his murder stare.” Kenma muttered, finally looking up from his PSP. “Oikawa, what do you want?”

Oikawa sighed, dropping his facade and lounging across the love seat across from them. “You know what it’s about.” 

Neither of them said anything, the two keeping their mouth’s shut. If Kenma wasn't worried before, Akaashi could _feel_ the anxiety radiating off of him.

“I’m not going to scold you, christ, I’m no better.” Oikawa scoffed, snorting into his coffee. “But I’ll warn you; you can’t guarantee their safety. Akaashi, you’re better off just because of where he works, but Kenma-”

“I tried to kill him.” Kenma said, placing his cup down onto the coffee table. “Months ago. Tsukishima had the shot, clear as day.”

“I’m not asking you to kill.” Oikawa told them, his expression softening. “Because I wouldn't be able to do that.”

Akaashi felt the tension melt away. Despite his demeanour, Oikawa was painstakingly human.

“Don’t think that this changes anything.” He said, his voice going low. “Unless you say otherwise, you’re to do your jobs, m’kay?”

His voice changed on a dime, becoming light and teasing, as if they were discussing the weekend’s plans instead of the possibility of death in the case of their significant others.

“Tooru,” Kenma said, staring straight ahead at the man. “It’s him, isn’t he?”

And Akaashi only knew about Oikawa’s past through word of mouth, whispers of _He murdered his father, killed the previous leader, enjoys gouging out eyes,_ but the most intriguing whisper he had heard was the one that carried the tone of heartbreak, of someone from a past life left behind.

And when Oikawa nodded, his expression halfhearted and solum, Akaashi’s heart ached. It ached because he could understand the heart wrenching feeling of leaving the ones you love behind in effort to shield them, it ached because he knew what it was like to hide yourself because you were so in love, he knew, he knew, he knew.

And it seemed Kenma did too, because the silent boy was now drawing Oikawa into a hug, his frame dwarfed by Oikawa’s lanky limbs. Akaashi swallowed, his throat sticky and dry as he swallowed.

"Murphy's Law: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Oikawa said, standing up from the chair he was seated in.“Atoms were never meant to split, but we created explosions anyway. When Hiroshima was bombed, they never knew the radiation would kill thousands more than it did, but that happened anyway. When the scared child inside of us all takes control, we end up falling in love with drug lords, prostitutes, and detectives like masochists addicted to the idea of star-crossed lovers. It wasn't meant to happen, but it could, so it did.”

Kenma sighed, and Akaashi shook his head.

“Man, we’re a bunch of demonic masochists, huh?” Oikawa said. Akaashi shrugged, and Kenma rubbed his worn looking eyes.

“Is it too early to break out the liquor?” Akaashi asked. He knew Oikawa had the expensive kind, and in the moment, there was nothing more he wanted than to loose his sense.

“I have some drugs on me.” Kenma said, mentioning to the case behind him.

Oikawa groaned. “Anything that won’t fuck with my head?”

Kenma shook his head, much to Oikawa’s dismay. The taller sighed, standing up to go grab a bottle of expensive looking liquor.

_What a fucked up bunch we are_ , Akaashi thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at that subtle foreboding !


	13. bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

It was only a matter of time before Shiratorizawa would strike back.

Kenma hummed as he walked absentmindedly through his neighbourhood. Neon street signs for restaurants and nightclubs illuminated the dark street, and Kenma pulled his jacket closer towards him. Admittedly, he took it from Kuroo, but the wind was icy, and Kenma liked the smell.

He inhaled deeply, watching as women shivering in tight dresses and heels walked past, hurrying to their cars through the cold wind. Kenma looked over his shoulder, watching out of the side of his eye as he watched the group jump into a taxi. When he turned his head to continue walking, hands had wrapped around his mouth and shoulders, pulling him into an alleyway.

It was late, and Kenma’s anxiety only grew as he thrashed, trying to wrench his self from his attackers grasp to no avail. Kenma tried to scream, but a hand had snaked it’s way to his mouth, and a fist was already shoved between his jaws. He bit down, hard enough for his attacker to curse and for the taste of iron to touch his tongue. A blindfold was wrapped around his eyes, blacking out his vision.

He was practically being dragged, whoever was holding him was obviously strong. His feet barely skimmed the ground, but he could register the feeling of going down stairs. The subway? A parking garage.

Kenma took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. The police wouldn't resort to methods like this, and he was dating Kuroo, so they had no reason to suspect him in the first place. He had nothing on him, and unless these were petty criminals, which he highly doubted, there was only one other person, or group, rather, that would do this.

His question was answered when the hand left his mouth and yanked his blindfold off. Kenma kept his head down, trying to pull away only to realize two hands were currently binding his ankles and wrists.

Forcefully, he was shoved down onto the cement floor of what look to be a parking garage. Kenma spat the blood that was still on his mouth as he sat up, glaring at the man who was staring down at him. He was tall and broad, with cropped brown hair and a black face mask covering his lower face.

“Ushijima.” He said darkly, his stare challenging the taller’s. “You do your own dirty work?” He asked quietly, keeping his voice level.

“I would say I don't mind dirtying my hands, but we both know Oikawa is capable of that as well..” Ushijima said, expression stoic as he pulled out a jar of dismembered extremities and placed it in front of Kenma.

Kenma pursed his lips, choosing not to say anything.

“You were the only one of Oikawa’s friends I could pin down to having enough chemistry knowledge to be the chemist in his business.” Ushijima said, taking a step forward as he towered over Kenma. “You killed Semi.” He stated.

Kenma shrugged. “I was there.”

“You killed him.” Ushijima said, pulling out a gun and cocking it. “What did you do?”

Kenma sighed, rolling his eyes. “Inserted a drug that would keep him awake. Played with hydrogen peroxide and his dying body once Tooru was done with him. I get curious.”

Ushijima wrinkled his nose, not lowering his gun. “You’re sick. Not as sick as Oikawa, but close.”

“I get compared to a cat a lot.” Kenma said, not averting his eyes. “Doesn’t that entitle me to curiosity?”

Ushijima spat instead of answering, making Kenma sigh.

“You’ve done worse. Akaashi told me you were going to kidnap the dancers. They're innocent people, not like you and me.” Kenma said, his voice quieting.

Ushijima seemed angry as he spoke again. “Akaashi knows the man who killed Tendou. They’re both dead, and so are you.”

Kenma took a deep breath, flicking his eyes around his surroundings. There was a knife tucked into the hem of his skirt, if he could reach it, he’s be able to cut his bindings. He shifted to feel if it was still there, only to be met with no resistance. Ushijima must’ve taken it, he realized.

Ushijima was quick to surge forward and kick Kenma in the stomach, causing him to doubled over and back. Now lying flush against the pavement, he could feel the pressure Ushijima exerted as he stepped on his stomach, holding him down as he aimed his gun square in his chest.

As he shot, a blur barrelled in, smashing into his side. Ushijima was strong, enough that the newcomer wasn't able knock him over. However, his aim had missed his heart, instead, it blew through his lower ribs, lodging through the gap and casing him to gasp. The sound of a knife being pushed across the floor was heard, and Kenma looked up from the bloodstain growing onto his chest to see Daishou throwing his knife back. Kenma grabbed it with shaky hands, hissing as he cut his bindings

Kenma was shaking as Daishou chucked a knife towards Ushijima. He scooted backwards, falling onto the ground and pushing himself against a wall as he watched Daishou and Ushijima fight. He brought his hands to the bullet wound on his ribs. He pulled a hand away, swearing when he saw it was still bleeding, leaving his hand a deep red. The bullet was on the floor, meaning it wasn't in him. He took a wheezy breath, tearinghis eyes away from the wound and back to the fight as Daishou stabbed Ushijima in the thigh. Ushijima was strong, but not quick, and Daishou took advantage of that, flipping backwards and throwing knifes towards him.

Ushijima ducked, hurtling towards Daishou and throwing him over.

“Well, what a comprising situation.” Daishou taunted. Ushijima growled.

Daishou, now pinned on the ground, flicked his pinned wrist, stabbing Ushijima in the forearm and causing him to loosen his hold. Within a spilt second, he writhed free of his hold. Standing back, he threw three knives in the air, and began sending them flying towards Ushijima. He knocked one out of the air just as another grazed his neck. The third lodged into his thigh, causing him to hiss. 

Kenma, who was getting ready to call for backup, paused. The odd scent in the air had strengthened, a sickening acidic scent, and Kenma could feel his lungs growing heavy. He looked back towards Ushijima, and, of course, how could he be so blind. 

A simple mouth and nose mask wouldn't do much, but it'd let him kill the two of them, or at least watch them suffocate.

“Daishou.” Kenma rasped.

“What is it, sweetheart? I’m a bit busy.” Daishou snapped back as he dodged a punch from Ushijima and attempted to stab his side.

“He’s gassing us, we need to go!” Kenma yelled louder, before erupting into a fit of coughs. He covered his mouth, looking towards the emergency exit doors. The taste of iron filled his mouth, and he swore in his head.

Daishou swore under his breath, and looked up at Ushijima, who somehow looked even more murderous than before. Snarling, Daishou threw his knife, distracting Ushijima enough to knock him off his feet.

Kenma has already began to limp his way to the door, and Daishou began to sprint towards him, grabbing the shorter by the arm and pulling him there. They could hear Ushijima’s footsteps behind them as they dashed out the door and onto the street. 

Kenma staggered into the car that was waiting idle, and before he could close the door, Kageyama had already stepped onto the gas.

“Kenma, what the-”

“He’s fucking shot, Kageyama, what the fuck do we do?” Daishou spat.

Kageyama seized up, before remembering something,

“I know someone who can help.” Kageyama replied, taking a hard right and onto the freeway.

Daishou rolled his eyes, pushing off his jacket and removing his sweater. Climbing into the backseat, he lied Kenma down, wrapping his sweater around Kenma’s wound.

Kenma sighed, heaving a deep, wheezing breath. The bullet was too low to have hit his heart, and he hung onto that saving grace as the blood soaked through the sweater

“Hurry up, would you?” Daishou snapped, leaning over Kageyama’s shoulder. 

“We’re almost there, idiot, sit down.” Kageyama jabbed back, swerving around another corner as he followed the shoreline towards the familiar apartment. 

_Yachi’s gonna kill me,_ He thought as they parked on the side of the street.

Kenma winced as the car jolted to a stop. It wasn't long after that strong arms slipped under his armpits, and two others grabbing his legs, carrying him into the apartment.

“Kageyama, what the hell?” Yachi exclaimed. She was still in her work clothes, her bag still around her shoulder as they entered through the patio door.

“Kageyama, are you okay?” Hinata replied, jumping up off the couch and rushing towards him, only to see Kenma’s limp body. He froze looking over to Yachi, who's face had turned pale.

“Please.” Kageyama pleaded. “He’s Kiyoto’s-”

“I know.” She replied, voice uncharacteristically low. “I’ve met him. Clear the counter, Hinata.”

Hinata ran towards the kitchen, Kageyama and Daishou following with Kenma. They placed him on the counter, pulling off his sweater and shirt. Kenma’s breaths were laboured and wheezy, and his face was expressionless and slack.

Yachi swore under her breath. “Someone get me alcohol.” She commanded, inspecting the wound. Kageyama dashed over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of vodka.

“Was he shot?” She asked as she poured the vodka over a towel.

Kageyama looked over to Daishou, who nodded. Yachi sighed, biting her lip. “Hinata, grab forceps from my bag.” She said, swiping the cloth over Kenma’s wound, causing him to hiss.

Kenma felt his entire body throb in pain as Yachi cleaned the wound. Hinata rushed back, and Yachi dipped the forceps into the vodka. Using them, she slipped them inside, pulling out pieces of the bullet that remained. 

Kenma was still wheezing, his breath still laborious as the fragments was discarded onto the ground. Daishou raised his eyebrows, taking out a knife to fiddle with and leaning against the wall. Hinata looked over to Kageyama, who was furiously biting his nails.

Yachi looked up from Kenma, her eyes narrowed. “I’m going to work without you loomingover me. Now go in the living room, before I make you explain what’s going on.” She warned.

Daishou sighed, following Kageyama and Hinata into the living room.

“So this is the mole, I see.” Daishou said, a smirk making it’s way onto his features as he spun the knife he was holding. “I’m surprised, Kageyama, I never pegged you as a top.” He jeered.

Hinata’s eyes widened as he looked over to Kageyama, who looked equal amounts pissed off and surprised. “Shut the hell up, Daishou.”

Hinata froze. He looked over to the man lounging on their couch, absentmindedly twirling a knife. “You’re Daishou Suguru?” He asked incredulously .

Daishou laughed. “Right, you’ve only heard the cop’s tale of me. Allow me to properly introduce myself.” He said. “Daishou Suguru, one of The Three, son of Daishou the once leader of the once Daishou clan.”

Hinata let out a forced laugh. “You said Daishou a lot in that sentence.”

He shrugged, and went back to twirling the knife. “Enough about me, more about you and Samurai’s sex life. I’m still surprised he's a top, but you're a bottom, obviously, so-”

“Shut your mouth, Daishou.” Kageyama snarled.

“Oh, so it’s a switching relationship? Nice, nice, change is always good.” Daishou taunted. Kageyama surged forward, as if he was about to lunge, but Hinata grasped onto his jacket, holding him back.

Suguru snickered, shaking his head. “Man, Kiyoko’s girlfriend is adorable. Kenma’s in good hands.”

Kageyama scoffed. “As if you give a shit.” Hinata shushed him, placing an arm around his side.

Daishou stopped spinning the knife, and sat up. The room went silent as he eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know that I actually _do_ give a shit, because Kenma is a fucking nice person who shouldn't have gotten shot tonight. And Yachi is dating Kiyoko, who’s like, the most badass chick I know, so I trust her judgement on Yachi.” He snapped. “Don’t act like you don't owe me for letting you stay. Oikawa may have power, but I was the one who ended up bottle feeding your sorry ass. Show some goddamn respect, you would've been left to the streets.” He spat. Daishou then rolled his eyes, standing up. 

“I’m leaving, I’ll go fill the boss in on what happened. The next time you see Oikawa, remember you're only alive by his grace.” He said, and pushed open the door, disappearing into the night.

Kageyama sighed, rubbing his eyes. They were lucky Daishou decided to follow Kenma, or else he would've been dead. Not to say that wasn't still a possibility.

“You can come back in.” Yachi called. “You and Daishou bicker too much, it’s fine with one or the other.”

“You should see it when Tsukishima is here.” Kageyama muttered, standing up and making his way over to the kitchen with Hinata trailing behind.

Kenma was pale on the counter, his face contorted in pain as Yachi stitched his side with careful and quick hands. 

“Bullet missed his ribs, you’re lucky it lodged between them on the outsidish bit. He’s skinny enough that there isn't too much tissue that was torn deep. He lost enough blood, but not too much. This is a miracle if I’ve ever seen one.” Yachi told them.

Kageyama felt Hinata go tense next to them, and his stomach flipped when he realized it just as easily could have been Hinata on that counter.

Not that seeing Kenma there didn't hurt: he ached as he watch Kenma breath shaky breaths, his eyes screwed shut in pain. Kageyama walked over, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

Yachi hummed as she finished up the stitches. “Tell your boss that if he wants me to keep piecing his underlings back together, he’s going to have to pay me.” She said. “First you, then Kyoutani, now him.” She said, her voice softening as she looked down at Kenma, who groaned.

“Pain killers.” He moaned, his voice raspy.

“We have Tylenol,” Hinata said, moving to stand, but Kenma shook his head.

“I have stronger. Someone ask Kiyoko to bring me them.” He said, voice still quiet.

Yachi nodded going to grab her phone, only for Kenma to latch onto her wrist. 

“Burner.” He stated. “Don’t use your cell.”

Yachi flushed and nodded, and she ran towards her room to fetch the one use phone.

Hinata let out a shaky breath, moving close to Kenma. They had exchanged conversation on a few occasions, but he mainly knew about him through Kuroo’s ramblings.

“Kuroo speaks highly of you.” Hinata said, trying to lighten the mood.

Kenma swore, his words barely audible. “What am I supposed to tell him?” He asked.

“You don’t have to.” Hinata said. “Just refrain from, y’know, taking off your shirt, and feint illness for a few days.”

“I can say you have a contagious flu.” Yachi said, walking back into the kitchen. “I called Kiyoko, she said she’ll be right by.”

“Kuroo’s smart, he knows bio chemistry like the back of his hand. Maybe not in as much practice as me, but he’ll call bullshit.” Kenma countered.

“You look like you have the flu.” Kageyama told him. “Pasty skin, dark circles, hoarse voice.”

“You’ll be like this for a few days.” Yachi added. “If he does insist on coming by, you’ll look the part. I’ll bandage this up, then you can stay the night here. You work in drugs, I assume you can get your hands on the antibiotics needed for this. Don't wet your bandages, change them regularly, don't exert yourself. No work for at least a week, and go see whatever professionals I assume your boss has as soon as you leave, got it? They know how to assess this better than me.” She said.

Kenma nodded meekly. Yachi sighed as she heard a knock on the back door.

“That’s Kiyoko. You two can go sleep, we’ll take care of him.” She said, pushing them out of the kitchen.

Kageyama looked like he wanted to protest, but Hinata grabbed his arm, dragging him into his bedroom. Kageyama sighed, opening his drawer to pull out a pair of pyjama pants. He watched as Hinata discarded his clothing, reaching for Kageyama’s worn button down and slipping it on. It was too big, but he hummed, satisfied with his sleep attire. Kageyama followed him onto the bed, where he instantly wrapped his arms around Hinata.

“That could’ve been you.” He said, not letting up his hold.

Hinata sighed, wriggling to face him. “I signed up for this, even before I met you.”

Kageyama shook his head. “No, you don't understand. Shiratorizawa takes and takes and takes. They know the identity of our leader, and the only reason they don't tip it off is because Oi- we can kill who he loves with ease.”

Hinata furrowed his brow. “And I’ve dealt with their cases before, Kageyama. I have protection from both the police and Yakuza, I’ll be fine. The information I pass along is helpful, yes?” He said. Kageyama nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but Hinata cut him short.

“Then I continue with what I’m doing.” He said. 

“Why?” Kageyama said, raising his voice. “Why for me?”

Hinata smiled, curling closer to him. “Because I love you, Tobio. You know that.” He said. “And you might be in love with me, too.”

Kageyama froze, his heart racing. No, love wasn't something he knew. He didn't know how to love someone, how to hold them when they cried, how to be there through it, how to not insult them when he’s frustrated. All he knew was death and forty ways to kill someone with a pen, how to fight with swords, the code of an assassin. All he knew was patience and opportunity, but that was something Hinata lacked.

Hinata kissed him, soft and sweet, before pulling away. “I’m sorry.” He said, voice quiet. “I forgot-“

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Kageyama said. “I don’t know how to love.”

Hinata smiled, running a hand up to Kageyama’s face. “You know how to love, because you love me.”

Kageyama melted into Hinata’s touch, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Kenma sat on the metallic table, sighing as the doctor, Yui,pulled off his shirt. It was a week and a halfafter the incident, and the wound was still sore, but much less so. Yachi stood, nervously playing with her hair as the doctor inspected the wound.

“I told you the first time, Yachi, you did wonderfully.” The doctor said. “And this wound is healing nicely. Does breathing hurt?” She asked.

“It aches, but not a shooting pain unless I take a deep breath.” Kenma said. 

Yui nodded, pushing her short hair out of the way as she reached for the bandages.

Oikawa, who was standing idle at the doorway, hummed. “Ya-chan, I owe you for stitching up Kenma, and Kyoutani, and Kageyama. Your skills are very precise, right Yui?”

Yui nodded. “Honestly, you could’ve continued your studies and gone farther. You work in the ER, right?”

Yachi nodded, a blush prominent on her face. “Er, yes!” She responded, straightening her back.

“On call?” Yui pressed.

Yachi shook her head. Yui looked up to Oikawa, shrugging her shoulders.

“Ya-chan,” Oikawa said, strolling over to her. “How would you like a side job?”

“A side job?” She squeaked.

Oikawa smiled and nodded. “You’d work Yui somedays, and you’d continue having your apartment as a spot to go in emergency. We can provide you with better equipment to treat the people in the clan, and I’m sure Kiyoko and Kenma, once he’s better, can get their hands on some morphine.”

Yachi’s eyes widened at the offer. She opened her mouth to speak, but Oikawa handed her an envelope before any words could be said.

“Regardless, this is to compensate for the times you’ve already worked under a favour.” He said. 

Yachi opened the envelope, taking a look inside. Her eyes widened, and she looked back up to Oikawa.

“This is-“

“About what you’d make in a week, if you worked with us. We have plenty of people to stitch up, and often from other clans as well.” Oikawa told her.

Yachi took a deep breath, putting the envelope in the inside of her coat. “I’ll take the job.” She said, her voice regaining composure.

Oikawa smiled. “Wonderful.” He turned to leave, but Yachi reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Wait,” She said. “I have a question.”

Oikawa turned around, quirking a brow. “And what is that?”

Yachi took a deep breath before speaking. “Hinata, he’s become awfully dependant on Kageyama.”

Oikawa dropped his smile. “What do you mean?”

“I know this probably works in your favour,” She said, averting her eyes so she wasn't looking at Oikawa. “But he’s so clingy, borderline obsessed with him. Hinata loved his job, the fact that he threw it away to help Kageyama is unsettling, but the thing that is worrying is the fact that he’s _sad_ when Kageyama isn't around. Not like lonely, but as if nothing matters, except him. Hinata is so bubbly, but if he’s not working or around Kageyama, it’s like he’s another person.”

Oikawa bit his lip, sighing. It was Kenma who spoke up, his voice calm and concise.

“Hinata had an obsessive personality.” Kenma stated simply. “He’s the kind of person who chases after highs, no matter the kind. He latched onto Kageyama, because he was interesting and gave him relief from work, and he’s stuck there now. 

Yachi sighed, leaning against a chair. Oikawa shrugged.

“You were right, this works in my favour. I can’t say what exactly to do, except to keep Hinata busy.” Oikawa said. “I have to go, Ya-chan, Yui, Kenma, but I’ll talk to you later.”

A chorus of good-byes rang out through the room, and Yachi let out a loud exhale. The room stayed eerily quite as Yui slipped Kenma’s sweater back onto him. Kenma showered at the welcome temperature change, and he nodded in acknowledgement to Yachi and Yui before grabbing his coat and exiting the room.

* * *

Kenma was lucky, so, so lucky.

Kuroo was swamped with work, with Daichi’s injury, trying to piece together and get ground back after the death of Ukai, not to mention the fact that they continued to get threats delivered to their doorstep. (Curteousy of Oikawa, just so they are aware that they were still very much against them). 

Kenma was left alone is his flat, with Kuroo too busy to even call, nursing his wounds. Kuroo wasn't one to overwork to the point of hurting himself, but Kenma assumed he was close. He didn't feel like he was in the place to complain, seeing as he could let his side heal without too much suspicion.

Not to say they hadn't seen each other: Kenma had stopped by with sweets, per Oikawa’s request that he keep up the facade of working at a bakery. Again, Kenma was lucky that Oikawa knew people, and the bakery staff didn't even hesitate to say that Kenma worked there.

But Kenma was lonely, sitting by himself in his apartment. It wasn't a feeling he was used to. Kenma _liked_ being alone, he enjoyed curling up on the sofa and playing a game instead of going out in a group, but the lingering ache in his chest didn't seem to leave.

If it was anyone other than Kuroo, Kenma wouldn't believe himself. But Kuroo was different, he was all taunts and jeers when the time called, but he new when to be soft, to apologize. He was quick witted, smart, a nerd, someone who doesn't mind if you stay up until midnight. He enchants you, makes you want more. He listens when you speak, and respects when you won’t.

Kenma sighed, pulling out his phone as he leaned back into his couch. He didn't want to text Kuroo, he hated feeling like a bother, but he needed something to distract him from the throbbing pain in his side and the ache in his chest.

**_ken-mwah:_ ** _kuroo are you busy_

Kenma put his phone back, not expecting a response. Instead, he pulled up his shirt to inspect the wound on his side.

The bruise, sticking out from the bandages, was large and nasty, and he was thankful for Yui and her equiptment, because Yachi would probably not be able to take care of it on her own. It had diminished significantly, but was still dark and yellow around the edges. The bruises on his stomach were almost fully healed, on the other hand. 

It ached and hurt and if Kenma turned the wrong way, pain would shoot through his body. Kenma wasn’t the type to thank the universe or higher powers for things, but he damn well knew he was lucky.

And he was lucky that he dropped his shirt just as he heard the front door _click_. He listened as the sounds of footsteps grew louder, accompanied by a loud yawn and a _thunk_ of a bag hitting the floor. Kenma walked into the kitchen to see Kuroo, nose in Kenma’s cupboards as he ruffled through them.

“Do you have wine glasses?” He asked, peaking into the next cupboard. He smiled in success when he found them, taking down two and walking up to Kenma, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his lips.

Kenma hummed as Kuroo pulled apart, a mixture of a smile and a smirk on his face.

“I brought takeout and wine, thought I’d make up for being so busy and not being able to baby you through your flu.” He said, passing Kenma to place the glasses on Kenma’s dining table.

“You didn't have to.” Kenma said, blush now apparent on his cheeks as Kuroo gracefully placed the glasses at their spots.

“Mm, I guess, but I wanted to.” He replied, pouring the red wine into each glass before placing it on the table. “Ready for a feast?” He asked, motioning to the takeout containers.

Kenma rolled his eyes, secretly fond as he took a seat across from Kuroo.

And he realized that he would do it again, that he would talk to the stranger on the subway if he went back in time. He realized that he wouldn't change the fact that Kuroo was holding his hand and massaging it with his thumb as they ate. And Kenma stared hopelessly into Kuroo’s dark eyes with nothing but pure adoration thinking, _Oh god, I’m in love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> talk to me about the kagehina development/foreshadowing and leave your predictions in the comments im curious


	14. pinot noir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if controlled dying and hospitals make you uncomfortable (like me) skip from "when they arrived at the hospital" to "they didnt leave the hospital right away.  
> with that being said, this story is almost over, and my goal is to have it done by the end of july.

The howling sound of cool wind was loud, even within the building. Kuroo sat, coffee in hand, as he looked over the data in front of him. The only other noises in the room where the _clickity clack_ of keyboards.

The door to the room opened, and Bokuto stumbled in, shrugging off his coat as he entered. “Morning,” He said, slipping his coat onto a chair. “Where’s Iwaizumi?” He then asked, noticing a missing person in the room.

“Probably out with his boyfriend~” Hanamaki said in a sing song voice swirling around his chair.

Kuroo shook his head, looking up from the file. “No, he was requested at the hospital. Daichi’s parents wanted to speak to him.”

The room went silent, tension flooding in at the mention of Daichi. The room seemed quieter, even with the wind howling just outside.

“I don’t trust him.” Matsukawa said, breaking the silence.

Everyone in the room froze. Kuroo looked over to him, questioning his stare.

“You don’t trust who, exactly?” Kuroo asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Iwaizumi’s boyfriend, Oikawa.” Mattsun said. “He seems too cheery, he has the suspicious background. I mean, look at who his friends are.”

Bokuto’s eyes darkened. “Just because he’s friends with a stripper-“

Hanamaki sighed, exasperated. “I think what he means is that Oikawa does business shit, right? Stock investments or whatever, but none of the people he hangs out with do any of the sort.”

“That doesn't mean anything.” Hinata said, looking apprehensive. “He comes off as fake, sure, so the most of his friends are people he’s known for awhile.”

“And to be frank, Matsukawa,” Kuroo said, his expression and tone screaming _pissed_ , “It’s rather judgemental of you to peg that on him because of him associating with a stripper, which is one hundred percent legal.”

Bokuto nodded. He looked extremely annoyed, and everyone in the room could feel the tension. Hinata sighed, leaning forward onto the table. 

“Whatever,” Matsukawa said, shrugging. “Maybe I don’t like him personally, I shouldn't let that interfere with work.”

The room was still tense, even more so than before. Kuroo sighed, going back to the document in front of him.

It wasn’t like he liked Oikawa. The man often rubbed him the wrong way, but he assumed he just took getting used to. Kuroo knew Oikawa had a bad childhood, and he didn't want to blurt that out while trying to defend him.

In reality, Kuroo didn't give a shit about Oikawa’s pride, but the man was nice enough, and he made Iwaizumi smile, lifted his mood and calmed his nerves even when he tried to hide it. And for that reason alone, Kuroo would reevaluate his opinion on Oikawa, and try to keep them both happy.

Just as the tension began to fade, the door to the room was thrown open, and Iwaizumi stumbled in, exhausted. Hanamaki stood making his way over to him, asking if he was alright. Iwaizumi waved him off, leaned against the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s Daichi.” He said.

With two words, everyone ceased what they were doing. The noises of keyboard clacks, the humming and idle chatter all faded away.

“He’s been braindead for awhile.” Iwaizumi continued, taking a deep breath. “His family is going to pull the plug today. They invited us to be there, said we were the ones who were always beside him.”

Kuroo let out a sigh, trying to control the blood that was rushing in his ears. They all knew it was coming, but somehow, it only stuck them as Iwaizumi said it, like it wasn't reality until it hit you, cold like lake water, but not in the refreshing way. This was the kind of thing you expected but you weren't ready for, like bracing for the bullet only to be hit with a machete. They knew it wouldn't get better, they hoped it wouldn’t get worse, but the world doesn't always work in your favour.

Bokuto swore under his breath. He is the first to stand, and he grabbed his jacket, making his way over to Iwaizumi.

“When.” He asks, looking him dead in the eye. Bokuto is usually all smiles, but now his face has fell, and his expression is soft and mourning a death that hasn't happened yet.

Iwaizumi swallowed the knot in his throat before speaking. “In two hours.”

Hanamaki let out a sigh that show his entire body. He was always quick to tears, and this time was no difference. Matsukawa rubbed his back and slipped his jacket on for him, helping him stand. Hinata followed, his eyes blown and wide and _fearful_ as he slipped his coat on and followed the rest out the door. 

Kuroo trailed behind, rubbing his eyes as he looked down at his appearance: he was dressed well, as always, but he couldn't help but feel like the bags under his eyes and unkept hair would scream _I haven't slept properly in months._

(It’s alright, he realized, because everyone is like that.)

They signed up for this, Kuroo knows that, he’s known that since he first took on the case. These people didn't fuck around, they were cold hearted and merciless and absolute sadists, but this was the first time the pain would directly affect hi. He’s seen the people torn apart at their hands, felt for them, but he’s never had to watch a coworker, a friend, die. 

And they were all friends, Kuroo realized. They spent more time in that meeting room than they did at home, pouring over evidence. They lived and breathed this, this was their life, hunting down these people.

When they arrived at the hospital, the scent of rubbing alcohol and sterilized floors hit their senses. It was dizzying, and Kuroo felt the need to cough. Iwaizumi had bought a bouquet for Daichi’s parents, a lovely thing of daisies and white lilies. He handed them the couple, who nodded solemnly in thanks. 

Daichi looked pasty on the hospital bed. The IV drips and steady noises of the monitor beeping filled the room with eerie white noise, piercing their ears and making their skin crawl. Iwaizumi and Kuroo made quiet conversation with the parents and Hanamaki crouched down next to Daichi, silently saying a word of prayer under his breath as he traced a hand along his forehead. 

There was a knock on the door, and everyone turned to see a pair of nurses standing with a large gift box in their hand. 

“We were the ER nurses that attended to him.” The blonde said. She looked over to Hinata, and Kuroo recognized her as his roommate, Yachi, he had met on the off occasion. “This is for all of you.” She said, her voice quiet.

Daichi’s father stepped forwards, thanking her in a quiet voice and taking the box from her. The nurses left, as quietly as they came. 

A doctor walked in, her short brown hair pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Her expression softened for a split second when she saw the people in front of her, but her stoic expression resumed once she entered the room.

“We’ll start by removing his ventilation and IV drip.” She said. The male nurse began to help her in removing the mask from his face, revealing chapped, slightly parted lips that had almost gone white. The IV drip was removed from his arm, and the sound of dripping ceased.

The doctor continued to talk through the procedure, but Kuroo turned out the noise in favour of crouching next to Hanamaki, across from Daichi’s parents. He looked up for a split second to see his mother clutching onto Daichi’s hand, singing a soft lullaby as he brushed his hair out of his face. His father had one hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles on it, and the other on his wive’s.

Kuroo looked back to Daichi’s face, watching as his chest slowed. The _beeps_ of the heart monitor were long delayed and slow, spreading out with each tone. He was faintly aware of the stinging tears in his eyes and the knot that had swollen in his chest, but he paid no mind as he continued to watch Daichi chest cease to move.

A single, long drone rang through the room. Kuroo didn't want to look up from Daichi’s face. He could feel his throat tightening, could hear Hanamaki gasping slighting and Bokuto sniffling.

He didn't want to check his watch.

(It only took ten minutes.)

They didn't leave the hospital right away, choosinginstead to give condolences to Daichi’s patients. Hanamaki and Bokuto stumbled into the bathrooms to clean up their ragged appearances, leaving Kuroo, Iwaizumi, and Matsukawa to wait for them.

Iwaizumi let out a deep breath, leaning against a wall and holding his face in his hands.

Kuroo sighed, scratching his arm. “Do you think they’d sell cigarettes?” He asked.

Mattsun rolled his eyes. “This is a hospital.”

“So no?” Kuroo asked with a sigh.

“You have a master’s degree in science,” Iwaizumi said.

“Actually, it’s a masters in-“

“Whatever. What I’m saying is you’re probably the smartest out of all of us, a mathematical genius. How’d you get into smoking?” Iwaizumi asked.

“The last time I had one was months ago.” Kuroo said defensively.

Mattsun laughed. “It’s funny, because you’re the one in charge of the drug aspect of everything. I mean, cigarettes aren’t hallucinogenics but you get the idea.”

They all laughed, the kind that isn't forced but doesn't feel right. The space between them was silent before a voice was heard.

“Well, I, for one, think cigarettes are a gateway drug to meth.” The voice said.

Kuroo whipped his head up, recognizing the voice of immediately.

“Where the hell-“ He started, looking around the empty hall.

“You get addicted, it stops doing anything for your sorry ass, so you overdose on crystal instead.” The voice said. 

They turned around, locking eyes with a tall man in all black, twin pistols in his hands, wearing shades and a black mask. Kuroo narrowed his eyes, slightly confused.

Matsukawa looked to him, cocking his head. Iwaizumi had already grabbed his gun, but before any of them could do anything, a voice materialized behind them. 

_“Boo.”_ Daishou said, a smirk already on his face.

Kuroo practically hissed, whipping his head around to lunge at Daishou only for a bullet to fly by his ear. He looked back to see the tall man firing towards them. Kuroo swore, turning back to see Daishou stab Mattsun in the thigh.

Mattsun winced, turning to grab Daishou, only for the man to use the angle to bind his hands with zip ties. The knife was stabbed into his opposing thigh, and Daishou dragged Mattsun down the hall, giggling as he did so.

Iwaizumi swore, ducking into a room as shelter as another bullet whizzed by his head. The tall man seemed to be following Daishou, so when his footsteps ceased, Kuroo took off down the hall. It was easy to follow Daishou, taunts of _Missed me missed me now you gotta kiss me_ filling the halls with a chilling song.

“Left!” Kuroo shouted, running around a corner to chase the noise. 

Iwaizumi followed, already on the phone and flashing his badge to the nurses. They dashed down and through the halls, following Daishou’s giggles and laughs before breaking into an empty operating room.

When Kuroo and Iwaizumi busted into the room, guns in hand, all they were met with was an old cassette radio, and a dead body half covered on the table. Kuroo looked around checking for any other doors or places to hide.

“Bastard played us.” Iwaizumi muttered.

“Asshole!” Kuroo shouted. “It’ll take ages to get back through the hospital where they went, right?”

Iwaizumi stayed silent.

“Right?” He asked again, turning around to see Iwaizumi, unmoving and pale as he stared down at the body.

Kuroo joined him. He looked down at the body and froze, bile threatening to rise out of his stomach at the sight.

On the table was Sawamura Daichi, his wounds reopened and neck slit again. In big, black letters, across any part of his body not sliced, was one phrase.

_Absolutely Filthy~_

* * *

Matsukawa was thrown into a room, which looked to be some kind of operating area. He thrashed as Daishou strapped him into the chair, purposely putting pressure on the stab wounds.

“Your boyfriend is pretty cute.” Daishou said, looking over his shoulder. “I saw him when I was trying to wrestle this one down.”

A dramatic sigh filled the room. As if they were characters in a horror film, a figure emerged from the shadows, a surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. He was still easy to recognize, and Matsukawa narrowed his eyes.

“Oikawa.” He spat. “I was right, you’re a hitman.”

Oikawa laughed, filling the room with a scarily pretty sound. “Oh, Mattsun, I thought you were _smarter_ than that!” He said, kneeling down in front of him. “I’m the leader.”

Matsukawa froze. “What the-“

“I honestly don’t want to kill you.” Oikawa continued, walking his fingers up Matsukawa’s shoulders. “But you catch on much to quick, and between you and me, I knew you would continue to investigate you.”

Mattsun sighed. Oikawa knew his plan dead on: He wasn't going to let his suspicion go.

“Shame though.” Oikawa said, leaning over him. “I thought you were funny.”

“I almost called you a friend.” Mattsun spat.

Oikawa shrugged. “Pins the blame on someone other than me.”

As Matsukawa thrashed, Oikawa turned back to Daishou, sighing.

“Yui should be here soon, we owe her organs and a body for the trade.” Oikawa said, throwing up his hood and adjusting his mask. “I’m leaving, you two have a good time, yeah?”

Matsukawa shouted something, only for a loud gunshot to echo through the room as Tsukishima shot him in the head. Matsukawa went slack as Yui walked into the room, scalpel in hand.

* * *

Oh, Oikawa _loved_ knowing people.

Both Yui and Yachi had connections to the hospital, meaning he could easily get in and out with been seen or recorded. By the time he was already being driven back home, he could hear the faint noises of sirens blaring as backup arrived at the hospital.

The car’s tires screeched as it stopped in the dim lights of the parking garage. Oikawa didn't bother to acknowledge the driver as he stepped out of the car and began walking to the elevator. The adrenaline had now since worn off, and the panic was sinking in, Oikawa’s stomach dropped into his stomach as he pressed for his floor and leaned against the elevator rail.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep sigh. He wasn't sure why he felt like this, like his stomach was turning itself inside out. He had killed plenty of people before, hell, he killed his own father with his bare hands. And yet, the vision of Mattsun’s terror filled eyes was burnt on the back of his eyelids.

Oikawa snapped his eyes open, rubbing his forehead in attempt to soothe the budding headache. He barely knew Matsukawa, why did he feel like his insides were trying to escape out of his throat then?

When Oikawa arrived at his apartment, he shucked off his coat, walking directly towards the bedroom. With a body that felt like lead, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep in attempt to clear his head.

When he woke, it was much later, the sun already set. He rubbed his eyes, standing up to wander to the kitchen. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he needed to force something down his throat to keep him from shaking.

His hands were steady, surprisingly, as he chopped away. The simple task numbed his minds of any thoughts, forcing him to focus on what was in front of him: peppers, a knife, and not slicing open his hand.

When he finished, he ate in eerie silence, the only other sound being his heartbeat and breathing. Oikawa cleaned up, only eating half a plate, and returned to sit on the counter as he heard the front door open.

He rushed to the entrance way to see Iwaizumi, head hung low and eyes tired. Oikawa’s chest ached, and he realized what was wrong. He felt guilty for causing Iwaizumi pain, for being the reason he had to see him with tears streaming down his face. Oikawa felt like screaming, but instead, he opened his arms and let Iwaizumi rush to his chest, embracing him as he cried.

“Daichi, he went off life support.” Iwaizumi choked out. “But they, they took him, and they defiled his corpse, and we don't know where they took Matsukawa. We haven't found him yet.”

Oikawa felt tears brimming in his eyes at the sight of Iwaizumi sobbing, but he held them at bay, instead cooing as he rubbed Iwaizumi’s back and pulled him into the living room. 

Iwaizumi continued to hiccup and sniffle, Oikawa rubbing his back and rocking him back and forth. Iwaizumi held onto him like he was a tether at sea: the grip around his waist was enough to make Oikawa short breathed, but he didn't complain. Instead, he tangled a hand in Iwaizumi’s hair.

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, pulling back from Oikawa and wiping his face on his sleeve. He steadied his laboured breaths, and licked his lips before he spoke.

“I want to get drunk.” He declared. “I want to drink whatever expensive shit you have, and I want to do so in a bath with you because I feel like I’ve been digested by the devil and you made me feel at home Tooru.”

At that, Tooru felt his eyes water, a tear slip down his face. He nodded, rubbing Iwaizumi’s shoulder before stepping away. “I’ll grab some wine, you wait in the washroom, okay?”

Iwaizumi nodded, padding upstairs towards Oikawa’s bath. Oikawa let out a shaky breath, walking towards his wide cupboard to grab an expensive bottle of pinot noir and two glasses before dashing up the stairs to meet Iwaizumi, already running the water and testing it with his toe.

Oikawa gave him a half hearted smile, handing him a glass as he set the bottle and his glass on the rim of the tub. It was huge, and was right beside a window, with fancy jets and enough space on the sill for Oikawa to have plants lined up.

Oikawa grabbed a bottle of bubble bath soap, and poured it under the rushing facet. In the corner of his eye, he could see Iwaizumi undoing his tie and beginning to unbutton his shirt. Once satisfied with the monster bubbles that had formed, Oikawa turned to him and helped his shaking hands with the buttons, pushing off the shirt and letting his fingertips linger at the muscles that rested underneath. 

There was nothing sexual about the situation, even when they were stripped bare of any clothing, the eyes that lingered on skin on skin on the curve of his hip were purely adoration, and Oikawa grabbed Iwaizumi by the forearms as he helped him slip into the warm water. The bubbles reached halfway up his chest, and Oikawa watched as Iwaizumi released the tension in his shoulders, slipping lower into the water and tangling his legs with Oikawa’s. 

Oikawa reached over to the glasses and the wine, first pouring Iwaizumi a glass, and then himself. He handed the rich crimson liquid to Hajime, letting their fingers brush for a moment before pulling away. Hajime sighed into the glass as he took a sip, Tooru following in suit.

The sounds of water splashing against the porcelain filled both of their ears, and Tooru found himself moving closer to Iwaizumi to straddle his waist and place his head in the crook of his neck. Wrapping his long arms around his shoulders, Tooru hummed and breathed in Iwaizumi’s scent, feeling his nerves calm.

_It’s just business,_ He thought as he pulled away, letting Hajime take another sip of his wine. But he couldn't bring business or a drug cartel into his home, couldn't let that side of him touch Hajime with soft fingertips as the other leaned forwards to plant a soft kiss to Tooru’s lips. He tasted like salt and expensive wine and something akin to drunkenness and melancholy, but maybe that was Tooru imagining things. But there was nothing imaginative abut the way Hajime whispered I love you, the way he said it back, the way Hajime’s eyes lingered on his hands as he poured another glass of wine for them both.

The water was lukewarm when Hajime fell asleep against Tooru’s chest, the bubbles already having dissolved to a milky foam at the surface of the water. They were both blurred with alcohol and sleep, and Tooru found himself staying in the water until it turned too cold too bear.

The bottle was empty when Tooru laid Hajime down in his bed, tucked him in and crawled beside him. He draped himself over his lover’s chest, humming as sleep lulled his eyes shut. Behind his eyelids awaited dead bodies and screams of the ones he loved, but Tooru paid no mind. Hajime was warm and sleeping under him, and that was enough to ground him to the little reality they had built that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahahahahahahahaha  
> Iwaoi Angst™ for you all


	15. disconnect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you SO MUCH for all of the feedback it makes me smile for 6 days honestly!!!!!!!  
> also.... if u ever wanted..... to like..... draw a thing..... for this... tell me...... :)  
> anyways enjoy!!

Despite what many think, Kenma held grudges.

He wasn’t petty, no. But he would remember every little thing any person had ever done to harm him, store it away, and make sure that you know that he hasn't forgotten. In a situation where he was shot and gassed out, this is reasonable.

What’s surprising is that Kenma was currently in a car with The Three, playing on his DS as Kageyama sat nervously beside him.

“We didn't get Oikawa’s permission.” He said, biting his lip.

Tsukishima tch’ed, and Daishou took a hand off the wheel to wave away.

“It doesn't matter,” Daishou said, veering right into an alley. “There’s no chance he can stand a chance against all three of us. Once we knock him out and tie him down, we’ll let Kenma have his way and dump his body somewhere for the cops and Shiratorwaza to find. It’s a win-win situation.” 

Kageyama opened his mouth to protest, but Kenma shot him a glare out of the side of his eye, and the taller man simply sighed out of his nose as they continued to drive.

Operation Find Ushijima And Beat His Ass, as dubbed by Daishou, went as followed:

1\. Snatch him as he goes to his warehouse,

2\. Tie him up and put him in the trunk,

3\. Bring him to the parking garage where the lab is and let Kenma fuck him up.

Kenma, quite honestly, was just going to ask Daishou for help, but he insisted on bringing the other two in case of possible cronies, cops, or in the event that he somehow breaks free of his bindings. 

Kenma’s wound was still sore, but the bandages were off and he was able to move much easier than before. He was lucky that he was a patient person: his plan wouldn't work when he was still unable to breath without wincing.

The car slowed to a halt as they pulled into an alley. Kenma looked out of the front window to see a large figure with dark brown hair leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand. Kageyama looked over to him one last time, as if waiting for permission. Kenma sighed nodding. Everyone turned around to face a grumbling Kageyama who slipped a black face mask over his mouth and nose before stepping out of the car.

A loud bang echoed through the streets, signalling that Kageyama had made himself visible. Daishou giggled, throwing open the door as Tsukishima grabbed the zip ties. Kenma sat back, resuming his game as he waited for the three to finish up.

It wasn’t long before the sound of shuffling and muffled shouts were audible, and Kenma looked up and out the window to see Tsukishima dragging Ushijima towards the trunk of the car. It was a few more moments before a loud thud was heard as the trunk was slammed close.

Kenma smiled to himself as the three got back into the car, Daishou pressing on the gas, the sound of squealing tires piercing his ears.

* * *

It took a lot of work, but The Three were able to tie Ushijima to a metal chair in the parking garage where the lab was located. They were in an unused area, devoid of any cameras or cars. Daishou leaned against a column, sharpening a knife as Kageyama worried.

“Are you sure we can leave you here alone?” He asked, his tone angrier than it was supposed to be. 

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine. Besides, Daishou is gonna be wandering around.”

“We all know Kenma is a feisty fucker when he wants to be.” Daishou said, shooting Kageyama a glare. “Now shoo, let’s let him have his moment.”

Begrudgingly, Kageyama left, with Tsukishima trailing behind him. Daishou kicked the knife he was sharpening towards Kenma, a pretty holographic print blade, before winking in his direction and wandering off.

Kenma took a deep breath, looking down on Ushijima as the man began to come to his senses. Kenma kept his face apathetic as he crouched forwards to be on the same level as him, studying his body with careful eyes as Ushijima groaned.

“What the-” Ushijima grumbled realizing who was in front of him. 

“Hell, Wakatoshi.” Kenma said.

That was all the warning he gave before he clocked him in the jaw, sending Ushijima’s head to the side. Kenma flicked his wrist a few times after the punch, standing back to asses the best way to go about this.

Kenma took a step back, taking a breath before bringing his leg forward and landing a sharp kick to Ushijima’s ribs. Much more satisfied with the reaction, Kenma kicked him again, this time, dead in the stomach with the toe of his boot. Ushijima grit his teeth, hunching over as Kenma changed legs and kicked his other side.

“You’re logical. Why are you doing this?” Ushijima asked.

Kenma responded by sending a kick to his jaw, sending Ushijima’s head back and almost tipping the chair over. Ushijima fell back forwards, spitting blood onto the ground. A faintest bit of pride brewed in Kenma’s stomach at the sight of a tooth, urging him to kick him again, this time, dead in the chest.

Kenma stalked closer, placing a foot of Ushijima’s chest and pushing him so that the chair was flush against the wall. Ushijima let out a short breath as Kenma grabbed his jaw and forced it upwards to look at him.

“Theres a piece of cartilage attached to the sternum, called the xiphoid process. If you apply enough pressure, it will puncture what is underneath it. I’ve always wondered what that looks like.”Kenma said, pressing his foot harder into Ushijima’s chest.

Ushijima squeezed his eyes shut, pulling on the zip ties on his hands. Kenma hummed, slapping the side of his face with his free hand.

“Do you not want to watch? Okay, that’s fine.” He said.

Kenma leaned forwards so their noses were almost touching, and tightened his grip on Ushijima’s jaw. With his other hand, he pried open his left eyelid, slipping two finger’s into the socket. Ushijima yelled, the sound deep and pained as Kenma massaged the inside of his socket, spreading his fingers apart. Growing bored, he hooked them behind the eye and pulled, the eye popping out of the socket and into Kenma’s hand.

Ushijima let out another yell, trashing wildly as Kenma inspected the eye lying in his palm. It was bloody, sure, but he could see the pupil and the iris and even the bit that connected it to his brain. It was interesting, and Kenma found himself ignoring Ushijima to look at it closer.

“Tooru told me that was fun.” Kenma said, tossing the eye onto the ground.

Ushijima growled, his one eye socket dripping blood, the other staring, brow furrowed and menacing. Kenma sighed, flicking the blood off his wrist. With the foot still pressed to Ushijima’s lower sternum, Kenma pressed down with all his might, only stopping after he felt no resistance from the xiphoid, and when Ushijima let out another groan.

Kenma frowned, dissatisfied with the reaction. He stepped off of Ushijima and kicked him in the stomach, then right beside where he had just punctured. Grabbing the knife Daishou had given him, he pressed it right between his ribs, in the place where Ushijima had shot him. When Ushijima simply winced, Kenma twisted the blade, causing his head to go slack. 

Kenma pulled the knife out, wiping the blood on his tights. Daishou had made his way back with the car, and rolled down the window, wolf whistling at the sight.

“Damn, never thought I’d see the day where a boy in booty shorts, tights, a crop top and leather jacket made a grown man pass out from pain.” He said, stepping out of the car. He paused, frowning. “Actually, I have. Both Akaashi and Oikawa, along with you, would wear that while beating someone to a pulp.”

Kenma shrugged, sheathing the knife and picking up the eye. Daishou snickered at his looked at the K.O.’d Ushijima. He pulled him off of the chair and dragged him into the trunk, purposely closing it on his fingers the first two times before closing it properly and jumping into the driver’s seat.

Kenma curled up in shotgun, crossing his legs and pulling out his phone. He ignored Daishou completely as he pulled into an alleyway and dumped Ushijima’s body. Kenma was half asleep when Daishou pulled up to his apartment, sending Kenma off by blowing a kiss. Kenma ignored him completely, dashing up the stairs and hoping no one noticed the blood on him.

That night, after he soaked the blood off his skin, he slept the whole night through.

* * *

The next morning, Kenma did not expect to receive a phone call from a moody Oikawa. Kenma grabbed the phone and answered as he rolled out of bed, sitting up on the edge of his mattress. He groaned in greeting.

_“Kenma, he’s alive.”_ Oikawa said.

“What?” Kenma responded, snapping out of his sleepy haze. 

_“Ushijima. I know you tried to kill him, or whatever, but it didn't work. Akaashi got a letter directed to me saying that he was alive, some bullshit about an eye for an eye. I guess him trying to kill you was payback for us killing Semi, but you nearly killed him to get even for him nearly killing you, so now that you’re even, he’s turned his grudge back to me.”_ Oikawa bitched.

Kenma sighed. “What’d the letter say?”

_“That I’d be better off as a thief in a heist instead of in the Yakuza. He always says that. He’s delirious, I’m an amazing leader.”_ Oikawa continued. _“Anyways, he’s injured, I'm guessing, so there’s no imminent threat. That’s all I have to say.”_

Kenma hummed in response, saying goodbye and hanging up before Oikawa could respond.

Flopping back onto his bed, Kenma groaned. Of course, Ushijima finds a way to survive, with one eye and a lung punctured in two places. Internal bleeding, be damned, somehow he lived.

Kenma rolled up, padding his way over to his closet. Pulling out a shirt that was haphazardly hung, Kuroo’s, and a tennis skirt, Kenma’s, he threw off the worn jersey he wore to bed, throwing the shirt over his head and tucking it into the flared skirt. 

As he made his way into the kitchen to grab something for breakfast, he froze when he saw Kuroo already there, scrambling eggs on the stove. He smiled when he saw Kenma enter, motioning for him to come over. 

Kenma stalked towards his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist. Kuroo laughed, deep and throaty, sending vibrations through Kenma.

“Good morning, Kozume.” He said, turning to face him. Kuroo leaned down to give him a kiss, but Kenma turned away, wrinkling his nose.

“I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” He said, untangling his arms from Kuroo’s to go to the washroom. Kuroo sighed dramatically as Kenma left.

When Kenma returned, breath minty fresh, Kuroo had already set Kenma’s small dinner table with breakfast. Kenma muttered his thanks as he sat down next to Kuroo, eating the meal quickly. Kuroo smiled, talking about how Kenma’s cat was standing on the counter the whole time, and scampered away minutes before Kenma woke up. 

When Kenma finished, Kuroo swiped his plate, quickly putting it in the dishwasher as Kenma moved to curl up on his sofa. Kuroo returned, jumping next to him and grabbing Kenma, moving him to sit in his lap. 

“Is that my shirt?” Kuroo asked, playing with where it tucked into Kenma’s skirt.

“Yes.” Kenma admitted, wriggling in Kuroo’s lap.

Kuroo smiled, running his hands down Kenma’s sides. “I always liked how you wore skirts.”

Kenma shrugged. “Just because I’m a boy doesn't mean I can’t wear them.”

Kuroo smirked. “I know, and you look amazing. And in my shirt too.” He said, leaning over to kiss at Kenma’s neck.

Kenma hummed in content, Kuroo’s hands still running up and down his sides. After a moment of Kuroo leaving open mouthed kisses to his neck, he turned to straddle him, breaking the contact that Kuroo had on his neck. 

“So that’s where this is going.” Kuroo mused, still smirking as moved his hands lower to grip Kenma’s ass.

“If want it to, yeah.” Kenma replied, leaning down to kiss Kuroo.

Kissing Kuroo was soft and wet, with expert tongue and slow movements. Never once did their teeth clash, and despite Kenma sitting in his lap, Kuroo still maintained control. 

And control he did, grabbing Kenma’s hips to lift him up so that he could sit up so they were level. Kuroo slid his hands up Kenma’s thighs, and Kenma sighed into Kuroo’s mouth at the feeling of skin on skin. Their movements were slow and full of passion, every touch feeling amplified, sending shivers down Kenma’s spine.

And in the hazing morning light, on a couch on a Tuesday morning, Kenma let his toes curl as he called out _Tetsurou_ , throwing his head back and humming at the feeling. It wasn’t until after, as he slipped his skirt back on, when he looked over to Kuroo smiling lovingly in his direction, that he realized that he’d give anything to be with Kuroo.

Kuroo, with his messy hair, with his obsession with biochemistry and bad dramas, Kuroo who sang music from the 80s at the top of his lungs with the windows rolled down. Kuroo, who came home piss drunk because he tried, and failed, to outdrink Akaashi, Kuroo who held him at night with strong arms, Kuroo who nuzzled his face into Kenma’s neck when they fucked, Kuroo who always smelt like cedar and summertime. And Kenma thought, that maybe, just maybe, they could throw everything they knew away, abandon the life dead set on ruining them, trade it in for something else. Trade it in for a bread and breakfast on the sea side, in the middle of nowhere where Kuroo can sing on the top of his lungs and make Kenma good breakfast every mornings and maybe he can join in.

And, fuck, Kenma was so in love, so in love that he rushed forwards and kissed Kuroo with all his might. Kuroo recuperated, and they both paid no mind to the fact that they were smiling too much for it to be any good, because Kenma was warm and happy, and he felt millions of years away.

Kuroo knew him, he knew that he grew up in the parts of town most kids weren't allowed to walk in alone, he knew that Kenma was on the streets most of high school. And he didn't care, he didn't mind, and even though guilt wracked through Kenma when he told the version of the story where Oikawa took him in and introduced him to the baker where he ‘worked,' he appreciated the way Kuroo would soften and hold him tight, rock him through his demons when he’d be up at 3am.

And Kenma would do the same, because often Kuroo came home with tired eyes and a heavy head, talking about how a coworker hasn't been found yet, or how the lead turned out to be bogus. Kenma pushed all his prejudice aside, and latched onto him, let him know that everything was going to be okay.

Kenma wasn’t sure about that, and neither was Kuroo, but they told it to themselves anyways, repeated it over and over like a mantra they weren't allowed to forget. And one day, Kenma thought, they’d be able to go to bed without wondering when they’ll meet death next. 

Kenma only hopped that that day would come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look @ that!!!


	16. green tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is short and serves to tie up loose ends before shit hits the fan. enjoy~

Kageyama wasn’t going to lie to himself, Hinata had been extremely valuable. From “misplacing” files on Daishou and providing false leads, to running the cassette radio to lure Kuroo and Iwaizumi away from Daishou, even tipping them off on Matsukawa suspecting Oikawa. Hinata didn’t _understand_ danger, and even when faced with overwhelming consequences, he continued anyway.

But that wasn’t what Kageyama was worried about. He was worried about the way Hinata was blatantly not feeling guilt over having a hand in a coworker, and presumably friends murder. Hinata obviously cried and acted scared when supposed to, but when Kageyama brought it up, he fluttered his eyes lashes and brushed it off, even seeming confused that Kageyama would ask that.

And Kageyama, a born assassin and Yakuza hitman, was terrified of him, yet simultaneously in love. Hinata, with his eerie stare and his blinding smile, with his teasing touches and furious kisses. Hinata, who wouldn't stop running his hand up Kageyama’s thigh as they ate dinner in his flat.

Kageyama shot him a glare, and Hinata simply stuck out his tongue, grabbing his and Kageyama’s empty plates to wash up. Kageyama bit his lip as he watched Hinata come back and sit down next to him, placing his head on his shoulder.

Kageyama took a deep breath, calming his nerves before speaking.

“Shouyou, do you feel guilty about it?” Kageyama asked, standing to flop onto the couch.

Hinata cocked his head, confused. “About what?”

“About, y’know. Being apart of the thin that’s killing your friends.” Kageyama said, wincing at the bluntness of his words.

Hinata didn't seem to mind, simply shrugging and flopping down next to him. “If it’s helping you, then I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”

Kageyama furrowed his brow. “But you-”

“But nothing, Tobio.” Hinata snapped, sitting up. “I’m doing this for you.” He said, his voice noticeably quieter, noticeably shakier.

Kageyama tried to look at his face, but Hinata turned away, choosing instead to step off the couch and make his way to the kitchen. Kageyama sighed, leaning back into the cushions. 

He knew Hinata was probably hurting, and that he was probably drowning in anxiety and nerves, but Kageyama didn't know what else to do. Hinata was dependent and clingy, and he was often too loud, an unstoppable object with the velocity of a thousand race cars. And sometimes, they clashed, like a forest fire and a hurricane, tearing away at each other until they are left raw. Kageyama looked down at his hands: his fingers were long and his nails short, with blood left under the nails. Hinata’s were smaller, softer, less bloody.

And somehow, Kageyama found his feet carrying him to the kitchen, where Hinata was scrubbing away at the plates with his bare hands. Kageyama grabbed his waist, pulling him out of the sink’s water and bubbles and sending him sliding towards him. Hinata yelped, but Kageyama paid no mind as he grabbed Hinata by the wrists and stared him in the eye in a way he hoped didn’t come off as menacing.

“I don’t have any clue what I’m doing.” Kageyama said, not loosening his grip. “I’m terrible at romance, I love dates but don’t realize we’re on one until halfway through. I always want to buy you flowers, red sweetheart roses, but I don’t know if that’s appropriate. I’m a _mess_ , Hinata, a mess who is very logical and clean and precise but I’m still a chaotic windstorm of shit and I _really_ don’t want to fuck this up.” 

“Kageyama,” Hinata said.

“No, let me continue.” Kageyama shot back. “Shouyou, you explain things in words that don’t exist and you try to love everything at once and your smile is wider than the oceans and at the same time you are terrifyingly serious and it scares me, it scares me so much to be in love with you.”

Kageyama was panting slightly as he finished, having not taken a breath the entire time he spoke. HInata was looking up at him with wide eyes and a look of wonder, and Kageyama’s stomach dropped as Hinata smiled sheepishly.

“Kageyama, my wrists.” He said quietly, looking down at Kageyama’s hands still wrapped around his forearms. Kageyama muttered an apology, letting them go and holding his hands behind his back.

Not a moment later did Hinata jump forwards and tackle him into a hug. The force of it almost nocked Kageyama over, and he had to restrain himself from laughing at the sheer though of it.

“Oh, Tobio.” Hinata said, squeezing Kageyama tight. “You aren't alone. We all care about you. Your hitman friends, Kenma, even moody boss-man Oikawa. We all care.”

Kageyama pulled back, looking down questionably at Hinata. “You figured out Oikawa was the leader?”

Hinata shrugged, smiling. Kageyama sighed, pulling him back into a hug.

“You always do.”

* * *

Akaashi was trying not to scream as he answered the phone. 

“What did you just say?” He asked, sitting down. 

_“It’s too dangerous. Yahaba found three Shiratorizawa members there yesterday, all trying to get at the drugs. It’ll better for everyone if we just remove the location entirely-”_

“But will everything else still be going through you? Even without the drugs? Will we still be able to afford-”

_“Akaashi.”_ Oikawa said, cutting him off. _“Yahaba will continue to run, and I will continue to fund,_ Diamond Eyes, _providing it still makes a justifiable revenue, which, I assume, it will. Is there anything else you need?”_

“No, that’s thats good. I was just going to go to work now, I’ll talk to you later.” He replied, a smile already working it’s way onto his face.

_“Bye, Aka-chan.”_ Oikawa said. 

“Bye, Oikawa.”

Akaashi was full on grinning when he arrived at Diamond Eyes, slipping off his thin sweatshirt and track pants with a smile on his face. Oikawa had just told him that he wouldn't have to worry about suppling drugs, which means he didn't have to worry about _Bokuto_ finding out he was supplying drugs, and he, himself, didn't have to go to work early to supply drugs. It was amazing, and in his mind, there was absolutely nothing that could go wrong.

The night started off well, with Akaashi performing a few amazing dances, doing a few private shows, and two quick blow jobs. He was tired, and the adrenaline was wearing off, but Akaashi was still positive enough for Suga to tease him about it.

Then, in the typical manner of things, something went wrong.

“I can’t fucking believe this shit.” Akaashi said, storming down into the change room.

“What happened?” Suga asked, peaking out from where he was changing. Yaku wandered over, slipping a shirt on to listen. 

“Shiratorizawa. _Again_. Asshole kept calling me baby, even after we finished, said he wanted to ‘take me home’, that I was ‘such a good fuck’ and that he wanted to keep me for himself.” Akaashi spat, voice bitter and low.

“Fuck, where is he.” Yaku said, practically fuming. “I’m gonna punch him.”

“Yahaba already did. With a gun.” Akaashi answered, slipping his track pants back on. They were soft, and he needed to roll them around the waist, so he assumed they were Bokuto’s.

Suga sighed, grabbing Akaashi by the shoulders to look him in the eyes. “What matters is that you’re safe, and he’s dead, because if I got to him first, I’d rip out his teeth one by one.”

Yaku nodded in agreement, and Akaashi let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “Suga, Yaku, you guys are as scary as The Three sometimes.”

Suga blew a kiss in response, taking a step back as Yaku scoffed. “You should see yourself.”

Akaashi smiled, pulling them both into a hug, causing Suga to break out into a pair of giggles and Yaku to grumble in mock annoyance. When they pulled away, Suga smiled warmly, placing a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder.

“Bokuto is good for you. You seem a lot happier now.” He said, slinging his back around his shoulder.

Akaashi shrugged. “I am.”

* * *

It was late when Akaashi got back to the flat, rubbing his eyes and yawning. When he wandered into the flat, his stomach fluttered at the light pouring from the kitchen. Dropping his bag, Akaashi walked to the doorway, smiling at the sight of Bokuto bussing himself while making tea. The sight warmed Akaashi's heart: Bokuto was all muscle and pure sweetness, and his strong hands were now pouring the tea into a cup/

“Hey,” Bokuto said, noticing Akaashi as he pouring some milk into the tea cup. “Hard day at the office?”

Akaashi hummed in agreement, only to pause, dead in his tracks, realizing what Bokuto had said. In a single moment, he was bursting out laughing, clutching his stomach as he snorted and clapped.

“Oh my god, you can’t be serious.” Akaashi choked out, holding onto the kitchen doorway for support.

Bokuto was laughing too, his face scrunched up in a smile as he leaned forwards onto the counter. “I swear to god, I did not mean that.”

Akaashi shook his head, walking closer to Bokuto and wrapping his arms around his side. Bokuto used his free arm to embrace Akaashi’s shoulders as he added some sugar to the tea he was preparing, stirring it before handing it to Akaashi.

“It’s a matcha latte, I thought you’d like it. No caffeine, don’t worry.” He said as Akaashi wrapped his hands around the cup, blowing on it lightly before taking a sip.

The warmth traveled through his mouth, down his throat and into his stomach, loosening the knots in his shoulders and making him smile. Bokuto giggled, leaned over to wipe off the foam that stuck to the top of Akaashi’s lip. He then bridged the gap between them, giving him a single soft kiss before breaking away.

“Go take your shower. I’ll clean up.” He said, grinning. 

Akaashi nodded, taking his tea with him. He somehow managed to place it on the furthermost ledge where the spray didn't reach, so he could drink it as he waited for the conditioner to sit in his hair.

The shower smelt like green tea and maple and honey and vanilla and the spice soap that Bokuto used, the calming scent lulling Akaashi further into the thought of sleep as he rinsed the remaining bubbles off of his hair and body. By the time he finished, the mirrors were thick with steam, and Akaashi’s tea was completely gone.

When Akaashi climbed into bed, Bokuto already waiting with outstretched arms, Akaashi found himself curling into his strong chest, smiling as Bokuto’s arms wrapped around him, holding him still as their legs tangled under the covers. The wind outside was unseasonably cold, but everything was warm next to Bokuto.

Akaashi wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol dont expect daily updates i work tomorrow bUt i have a roadtrip this week so by the weekend there'll be more


	17. scratch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for self mutilation, bile, and general pain.  
> (double update? what the heck??????? im impatient)  
> ((.....im sorry.....))

The wind is bitter cold and howling outside of Iwaizumi’s bedroom where Oikawa slept. He woke with an arm wrapped around his waist, boiling and warm in juxtaposition to the cold that awaited him outside of the covers. Oikawa blinked himself awake, debating the merits of spending the day in bed with Iwaizumi’s tanned arms around him, but he was able to shake off the idea. Gently lifting Iwaizumi’s arm as to not wake him from his slumber, Oikawa slipped his feet onto the cool hardwood of Iwaizumi’s bedroom floor, stretching his arms out and rolling his neck.

He didn’t have any plans for the day, besides spending it with Iwaizumi. Oikawa slipped off the shirt he was wearing to bed, walking into the shower to wash up before going to dress for the day. Iwaizumi was still dead to the world when he came back, and Oikawa smiled lovingly, taking a picture on his phone before tugging on his favourite black skinny jeans, ripped at the knees. He tucked a white button down into his pants, looking back at his sleeping boyfriend before throwing on a leather jacket and sneakers before scrawling a note on a spare note pad for Iwaizumi.

_Gone to buy some pastries from the bakery. Cross your fingers they have milk bread~_

_-Tooru_

Oikawa smiled. Iwaizumi wasn’t a morning person, and it was likely he wouldn’t wake until after Oikawa returned, fresh pastries in arm, coffee already brewing. He stopped at the door, patting down his side to check for his knifes. He smiled when he felt them, feeling secure at the extra protection.

Oikawa opened the door as quietly as possible, shutting it behind him with a soft _click_. He tucked his hands in his pockets, humming to himself as he ducked into the elevator. Oikawa was impatient, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited to arrive at ground level. When he did, he practically sprinted to the door, not bracing himself for the icy cold blast of air that hit him.

Letting out a deep breath, Oikawa watched as his breath fanned out in a cloud despite being spring. Oikawa smiled to himself, having always loved the cold, and began to walk towards the bakery a few streets over.

He didn’t meet many people on his way, the streets deserted due to the cold weather and early hour, not many wanting to get up on a weekend. Oikawa pulled his jacket closer, shivering in the cold and wishing he had grabbed gloves.

There was something eerie about the street as he turned a corner, Oikawa noticed, tucking his hands back into the pockets of his jeans. They lacked their usual bustle, and the emptiness sent shivers down his spine. He looked up at the signs, checking to see that, yes, he was in the right part of town. Oikawa briefly considered turning back, but shrugged it off, choosing instead to venture forward with the promise of warm pastries. 

When Oikawa exited the pastry shop, milk bread and chocolate croissants in hand, he spotted a man with short black hair, shivering as he sat on the side of the street. His hands were red and raw, and he sported only a worn hoodie to wear. Oikawa’s expression softened, and he crouched down, handing the boy a croissant out of his bag. 

The boy smirked back at him, shaking his head at Oikawa’s silent compassion and charming smile. Oikawa dropped his face as the boy reached forward and knocked the pastries out of his arms, an arm wrapping around his waist, another pressing a damp cloth to his face. Oikawa writhed, trying to pull himself out of their grip to no avail.

It wasn’t long before his body went slack, and the cloth dropped from his mouth.

* * *

Iwaizumi woke to a cold and empty bed. 

He groaned, rubbing his eyes as he swung his legs from the warmth and relative comfort to look at the note left on the bedside table. He sighed, smiling at the prospect of freshly baked goods.

Slipping on a sweater to shelter himself from the cold that had seeped into the apartment, Iwaizumi walked towards the kitchen to brew coffee, only to spot another note precariously pinned to the fridge. Biting back a yawn, he walked over, squinting through sleep filled eyes to read it.

_The abandoned warehouse on Mareview Dr._

_You have one hour, the clock is ticking, for both Oikawa Tooru’s life, and yours._

Within a moment, Iwaizumi was wide awake, already rushing to his room to get dressed and phoning Kuroo. 

“What?” Kuroo grumbled, obviously just waking up.

“They took Oikawa, Mareview Dr. We have an hour, or he’s gonna die. How close are you?” Iwaizumi asked, pulling up his pants and grabbing his gun.

“I’m at Kenma’s, he says it’s less than a five minute walk.” Kuroo responded. There was shuffling on the other line.

“I’ll be there in one, get ready and call the others.” Iwaizumi said, hanging up the phone and tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.

He swore under his breath as he dashed down the stairs and into the parking garage, jumping into his car and pulling onto the street. _Of course,_ He thought, _Of course the Yakuza had to get him._

He bit back another string of curses as he stopped the car for Kuroo, who was hanging up the phone and tucking a gun in his belt as he got into the car. Before the door was even shut, Iwaizumi took off, slamming it closed as he sped down the street.

“Bokuto is picking up Hanamaki and Hinata.” Kuroo said, loading his gun as they drove. “Tell me, in detail, what the hell is happening.”

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, rounding another corner. “I woke up, Oikawa had left to get groceries. I went to the kitchen, and that note,” He said, pointing to the piece of paper on the floor of the car, “Was on the fridge.”

Kuroo grabbed it, reading it silently over before cursing under his breath. “You think it’s Yakuza?” He asked.

Iwaizumi nodded. “Yeah, they’re the only people who I have anything against.” He rounded another sharp corner, running a red light and speeding down the roadway. “Fuck, I can’t believe they got him.”

Kuroo sighed, putting his gun back in its holster. “It’s not your fault.” He said, looking out of the window. “Hanamaki is pulled up behind us. That was quick.”

Iwaizumi didn't reply, his mind already swirling with worries. They had already taken Daichi and Matsukawa, what more did they want? 

Everything was good about Oikawa. He was moody and annoying, sure, but he had a soft heart and a thirst for knowledge, a curiosity no one could rival. Iwaizumi remembered his smile from the night before, fond and smug, before being replace with a lax expression that followed from sleep. Oikawa was beautiful, and, fuck, Iwaizumi needed to stop shaking.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if that would be the last time he saw Oikawa alive. 

_No,_ He thought, speeding up. _I won’t loose him again._

* * *

Kenma was an amazing listening, and he thanked himself for that as he eavesdropped on Kuroo’s conversation. When he heard that Oikawa was kidnapped, he reached for his phone, waiting for Kuroo to leave in haste before making a call.

_“What’s up, Kenma?“_

“Oikawa has been taken to the warehouse on Mareview Dr.” Kenma said, voice already shaking. “Kuroo got a call, he’s in trouble, you have an hour. How soon can you and The Three get there?”

Daishou swore. _“Ten minutes, flat.”_

“The cops will be there in thirty.”

_“Call the mole, tell him to stall the officials.”_

“You’re the second in command, technically.” Kenma said. “Does he make his loyalties known?”

There was the sound of a revving engine, and doors slamming. _“Yeah, go ahead. I have Tsuki and Samurai here now.”_ Daishou said. _“Whatever you do, stay the fuck indoors. Call Akaashi, tell him the same.”_

Kenma opened his mouth to protest, but Daishou had already hung up. He sighed, dialling Hinata’s number.

_“Hey, Kenma!”_ Hinata’s voice was unseasonably preppy, and Kenma felt the need to scream.

“Shouyou,” He responded, his voice low. “Stall your detective friends. Oikawa is in danger, and you now have the option to reveal your loyalties. Someone from your team will pick you up soon.”

_“Yeah, they’re just outside. I have to go, Kenma.”_ He replied, voice wavering as Kenma hung up, throwing the phone across the room.

“ _Shit_ ,” He whispered. “ _Fuck_.”

Kenma was shaking without realizing, his hand quivering and legs barely able to support his weight as he stood. This was bad. Not only was Oikawa’s life in danger, but his identity as well. Even with the skills of The Three combined, it was unlikely they’d be able to get to him and get him out before the detectives do.

_And what if the detectives do get there?_ Kenma thought. _Will Kuroo be in danger?_

Kenma mentally hit himself as he began to pick at his nails. _Of course_ Kuroo would be in danger, Shiratorizawa, while less capable, was ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a measly cop. Kenma hugged his torso, curling up into a ball on the ground. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about Kuroo’s brains splattered on the ground, didn’t want to think about him tied to a chair, finger’s pressed in his eye socket as he ripped out his eye-

“No!” Kenma shrieked out loud. “No, no, no no no no NO.” He yelled, voice growing hoarse.

_I will not kill Kuroo,_ He thought. _I would never hurt Kuroo, I would never do that to him, I would never watch the blood run down the side of his nose as I feel the soft flesh of his eye-_

Kenma let out another screech, forcing his eyes open. Tears traced down his cheeks, leaving salt in their wake as Kenma tried desperately not to close his eyes in fear of visions on the back of his eyelids.

“Ushijima is the killer.” Kenma muttered, resuming rocking as he clawed his arms, half moon scratches and long lines appearing as his nails broke blood. “Ushijima is going to kill Kuroo, not me.”

Kenma stopped scratching his arms, moving his hands up to his face. “No, Kuroo isn't going to die. Kuroo is good, Ushijima is the killer, Kuroo won’t die, I won’t kill Kuroo.” He repeated, resuming rocking and he pried his eyelids open with his fingers, not letting himself blink.

Kenma wasn’t sure what he was seeing as he continued to rock, the blood on his arm’s dripping onto the ground. His eyes were watering from tears and dryness, and his breaths were short and laboured, racking through his body every time he heaved a breath. He allowed himself to blink, instead moving his hands up to his hair to tug on it harshly as he stared down at the wooden floor.

_I won’t kill Kuroo, Ushijima is a killer, his blood is on my hands, I am a killer, I would never hurt Kuroo, Kuroo is good, Ushijima is the killer, he kills Kuroo, not me, I kill Ushijima, I rip out his eye and watch the blood fall, Kuroo won’t die, I am a killer, Ushijima is going to die._

* * *

When all of the detectives grouped together, Hanamaki and Bokuto had to restrain Iwaizumi to keep him from running head first into the warehouse.

“Pairs.” Kuroo said, looking them all in the eye. “This warehouse was a mall, it’s going to be huge.” 

“I’ll go with Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki said. “You three go together. Hinata, you called for backup, right?”

Hinata nodded taking a deep breath. “Yeah, they’ll arrive.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi said, calming down. “There’s going to be a lot of people here, and you need to remember the Aoba-Hebi clan will not hesitate to shoot, slice, or stab you. Stick to the walls, stay in the shadows, keep your radios on.”

Everyone nodded, and Iwaizumi looked at them solemnly before looking over to Hanamaki, who took a deep breath. The pair left first, sneaking through the left entrance, leading Kuroo to lead the second group.

As Kuroo lead them towards the right door, which was further away, Hinata felt something that could only be akin to some sick kind of excitement bubble up into his chest. He kept his fingertips resting on his gun as Kuroo led them through the doors and down a deserted mall hallway.

The lights were off, and the thick clouds outside left little light to come through the mall’s window ceilings. The inside was ramshackled, the stores boarded up, some even torn down and replaced with huge works of graffiti. Hinata watched Kuroo and Bokuto closely, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

It was Bokuto who spoke first, after bring off to look through a mountain of things boxes pushed into what would've been a store. “Guys?” He whispered, looking over his shoulder. “The Aoba-Hebi clan isn’t associated with eagles, right?”

Kuroo, shook his head. “That’s Shiratorizawa. Now that you mention it, this looks like one of their warehouses.”

“That doesn't make sense.” Bokuto pouted. “The Aoba-Hebi Yakuza clan _hates_ Shiratorizawa.”

Kuroo bit his lip as Bokuto wandered back over. “I think we’re missing something, let me call Iwaizumi-” Kuroo froze when he heard a gun click.

Bokuto and Kuroo lifted their hands, turning their heads around to see the silent Hinata pointing a gun, directed smack at the back of Kuroo’s head.

“Hinata-“ Kuroo said darkly, at the same time Bokuto exclaimed _What the fuck?_

“I’m sorry.” Hinata said, lowering his arm last moment to instead aim for Kuroo’s shoulder.

Kuroo hissed, falling forward and providing a good aim for Hinata to hit him in the back of the thigh. Bokuto screamed, dropping to his knees and hoisting Kuroo back up as Hinata looked back over his shoulder to check if they drew any attention to themselves.

“What the hell Hinata? What are you thinking? You’re going to kill him!” Bokuto yelled, eyes angry as he placed two fingers on Kuroo’s neck. His pulse was weak, and Kuroo was amazingly, still conscious.

“How long.” He asked through gritted teeth. “How long have you been spying for them.”

“I started around the time of the attack on Diamond Eyes.” He said, taking a step back. Kuroo’s eyes were livid, his expression bone chilling.

“So you did it?” Bokuto said, voice quieting. “You misplaced our leads, you stole the files.”

Hinata shrugged, face nonchalant. “I ran the radio down the hall to lure Kuroo and Iwaizumi away from Daishou.”

Kuroo spat, literally spat, on the floor, attempting to pull out of Bokuto’s arms despite his wounds. “Put me down, I’m going to fucking skin him.” 

Bokuto held tight, shooting Hinata a glare as began to walk away. “We need to get you to the hospital, Kuroo.”

“No!” Kuroo screamed. “I’m going to skin him, he’s the reason Daichi is dead, he’s the reason Matsukawa is gone, he deserves to die like the snake he is!” 

Bokuto shushed him, eyes widening as he noticed the growing puddle of blood at his feet. “He’s not worth it, we need to go!”

Kuroo’s breathing was heavy, and when Bokuto looked over his shoulder, he saw Hinata looking over his shoulder, ducking into a store. It took every ounce of Bokuto’s control to carry Kuroo back to the car and speed off towards the hospital, snatching his phone to notify Iwaizumi what had happened, and to call Kuroo’s boyfriend, before slamming his foot on the gas and pulling away.

Kuroo’s usually tan skin as pale and pasty, his eyes half shut as he wrapped his sweater around his leg with one arm, wincing as he did so. Bokuto bit his lip, praying to whatever god existed that he’d be all right.

* * *

Kenma had finally calmed down, bandaging his scratched arms as he threw on one of Kuroo’s shirts and a pair of jeans. He pulled a pair of thick wool socks over his clammy feet, trying to steady his hiccuping breaths as he moved out of the bathroom and into the bedroom to curl up in bed and play on his DS. He didn’t expect to be able to focus, but Kenma desperately needed something to cling onto, to keep his hands busy. 

He had barely begun to play when his phone started to ring, the default tone playing from across the room where Kenma had flung it. Scrambling out of the covered, Kenma dropped his DS, moving to skid across the floor and swipe up him phone.

“Hello?” He answered, hoping his voice was steady.

_“Kuroo’s hurt.”_ Bokuto said, on the other line. _“Badly. We’re headed to the main hospital. I have to go, I’m driving.”_

“No,” Kenma said, as Bokuto hung up on the other end.

It was all it took Kenma to sprint to the bathroom, falling onto his hands and knees as he dry heaved over the toilet. I few moments later, bile rose out of his stomach, bubbling up hiss throat and splashing into the bowl, leaving Kenma sweaty and shaking as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 

Kenma was practically _vibrating_ with anxiety, his body numb with fear as he hoisted himself to his feet, only to fall back to his knees again as another wave of anxiety and fear hit him, sending him retching into the toilet.

It took every ounce of his strength to pull himself up, washing his mouth out and put on his jacket, Kuroo’s jacket, and head out into the frigid wind. Kenma flagged down a taxi, absentmindedly muttering the location of the hospital. The man driving seemed creeped by his disposition, but drove without a fuss, leaving Kenma to bite at his nails and try not to cry.

Bokuto’s words echoed throughout his head, reverberating off the walls of his brain and bouncing back, each time louder. _Kuroo, hurt very badly. Headed to the hospital, hurt badly, Kuroo, Kuroo, Kuroo, Kuroo._

Kenma realized he was holding his breath, and allowed himself to inhale through his nose, looking out through the window to steady his stomach. This wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Kuroo was going to die, Oikawa was gonna die, Daishou would be killed, he was going to- 

The car lurched to a sudden stop, signalling it was time for Kenma to leave. Kenma fumbled with the change, giving it to the man with a muttered apology before stepping out of the car with unsteady legs and making his was towards the ER. 

Kenma tried to run, he really did, but his legs would only carry him so fast, and even that left his panting as he opened the doors of the emergency centre and pushed his way towards the secretary. She was an older woman, who looked to be the only one working the entire office area. Her hair was frazzled, and if Kenma were in a better state of mind, he would’ve felt a pang of pity for her.

Instead, he only managed to choke out his sentence without crying. “Kuroo, Kuroo Tetsurou, I need to see Kuroo Tetsurou, he should’ve just came in with a Bokuto Koutarou. Please, I need to see him.” He said.

The woman sighed, looking at him with sympathy. “I can’t tell you anything if you aren't family or a spouse.”

Kenma shook his head, blinking away the tears that were forming in his eyes. “No, I’m his boyfriend, I just want to know if he’s _alive_ -”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry sir, if you aren’t family or spouse, I cannot disclose information. Now please, take a seat.” She said, voice curt.

Kenma backed away, reaching up to tangle his fingers in his hair and collapse into a chair in the corner of the room. The tears were free flowing now, dripping down from his eyes and trickling down the sides of his nose. Kenma bit down on the inside of his cheek, hard enough to taste the tang of blood iron his tongue. 

Eyes wide, he stared at the white tile floor, hands still tangled in hair to keep himself from clawing at his skin. He mumbled phrasing to himself, unconsciously kicking at the chair periodically and causing the people around him to jump. He as attracting stares, and a nurse even walked by to give him tissues, but he ignored them completely, eyes transfixed at the floor.

_“Kuroo is a good person, Kuroo is dead, Kuroo was shot, I am a killer, I kill Kuroo, I kill Ushijima, I rip out their eyes.”_ Kenma muttered, darting his tongue out to lick his cracked lips. 

It wasn’t until a sharp _beep_ from the PA system rung that Kenma was able to be snapped out of his trance. With his eyes now off of the floor, and heartbeat gradually slowing, he was now able to see the stares of people on him. He flushed red, grabbing the tissues the nurse had left to wipe his eyes and nose.

_Think, Kenma. If I’m not allowed in, Bokuto won’’t be either. Where is he?_ He thought to himself.

Now with a task, Kenma sat up, breaths hiccuping as he looked around the waiting room. There wasn’t any sign of Bokuto’s two toned hair, which made Kenma’s nerves return. Why wouldn't Bokuto be here?

A loud cough made him turn his head so that he was facing a blonde girl in a hospital uniform. Kenma recognized her as Yachi immediately. She pressed her finger to her lip, grabbing Kenma by the arm and pulling him into a corridor and out of the waiting room.

“He received two gunshot wounds, one to the shoulder, another to the thigh. They're performing surgery now, I don’t know if the one in his thigh his bone or not. He lost so much blood, Kenma.” Yachi said, continuing to pull him down the hall.

“Why aren’t you there?” Kenma spat, suddenly angry. “You’re one of the best nurse’s you should be working on him.”

“I would if I was allowed.” Yachi said, voice quiet. “Yui is my direct supervisor, she assigned me to someone else. I can’t let you in, I’m sorry.”

Kenma took a deep breath, stopping to grab onto a wall for support. “Then where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to a room, you’re in shock and you’re going to hurt yourself.” Yachi said, continuing to pull him down the hall and into a room, with a screen dividing it. She pulled him onto the left side, sitting him on the bed.

“Stay here. I’m going to get water, you sleep. If you leave to find Kuroo, I can’t help you. Stay.” She warned, before ducking out of the door nervously.

Kenma collapsed onto the hospital bed, not caring that it was uncomfortable and cold. He scrunched his face at the overpowering scent of hospital as he pulled the thin blanket over top of his feet. He slipped his arms out of Kuroo’s jacket, the one he always stole that was unofficially his, despite being many sizes too big, and laid it over top of himself as a blanket, inhaling Kuroo’s warm scent.

And then, Kenma truly cried, letting his tears fall, his breaths gasp, his mind go blank except for the thought of _Tetsurou, Tetsurou, Tetsurou, Tetsurou._ He clutched onto the jacket, rolling over on his side to face the screen and let the sobs rack through his small frame, let the tears slip down his face and onto the paper pillow under his head.

And in that moment, Kenma made a silent promise, that if he and Kuroo made it out of this alive, that he’d leave, that they’d go and live in a small house in the seaside where nothing from Tokyo can touch them, where Kenma won’t be making drugs for a living and Kuroo won’t have to worry about his loved ones being shot every time he went to work. Kenma cried, and he cried, and he promised that he’d leave it all behind, that he’d thank Oikawa for pulling him off of the streets, that he’d visit Akaashi and Kageyama and Daishou, but the ache of missing his friends was worth it to be away from this life, this life he had been living for too long. A life where LSD is kept in his medicine cabinet, where his boyfriend is trying to arrest him, and god, if Kuroo lives, that will be the biggest problem on his mind.

Kenma was jolted up as another person was wheeled into the room. He looked up, rubbing the tears out of his eyes to see a black mess of hair, fit with a mask and several blood and medication drips being transferred to the bed beside him. With hesitant steps, Kenma padded over, peering from behind the curtain to get a better look. Even covered in tubes, and with nursing swarming around him, Kenma could tell who it was.

_"Tetsurou."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember daichi went to the hospital and he didnt make it........ will kuroo be the same way??? tune in next time to find out  
> place ur bets on who dies lmao  
> next chapter i actually cried while editing lmaooooooooo get ready


	18. snowfall

They heard the bang before the radio went off. It echoed through the deserted corridor, and it caused both Hanamaki and Iwaizumi to twist their heads towards the direction of Kuroo, Bokuto, and Hinata. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Iwaizumi muttered, pulling out his gun.

“I’ll check it out.” Hanamaki said. “You head forwards, yeah?”

Iwaizumi nodded, watching as Hanamaki broke into a sprint down the corridor, racing to the source of the noise. When his radio went off, signally that Kuroo had been shot by none other than Hinata, Iwaizumi wanted nothing more than to throw up. Bile churned in his stomach, threatening to spill as the thought mulled over. Hinata, sweet, enthusiastic, loveable Hinata, with his hundred watt smile and nervous stomach. Iwaizumi gripped onto the wall, hoping to catch his thoughts.

He didn’t have time, however, because another bang went off, a bullet whizzing past his head. In record speed, Iwaizumi rushed into the nearest room, backing up away from the corridor. The gunshots didn't stop, instead, they chased him forwards as he ran, always hitting the space he just left.

Ducking behind a wall, Iwaizumi paused to check the corridor. There was no one on foot, meaning there must’ve been someone sniping from the rafters. Taking a deep breath, Iwaizumi ran into another corridor, narrowly avoiding fire, this one occupied.

In the centre of the room, was a man with two swords, dripping in crimson blood. He stood, staring down at the bodies littered around his feet, all sliced and stabbed. His face was obscured from sight, but their was no doubting who he was. Iwaizumi swore, moving flush to the wall to avoid being seen. He peaked back in, slower this time, confused. This was, quiet obviously, the sword hitman, so why was he killing extra bodies?

There was more movement, as another body popped up, equally as bloody. Iwaizumi recognized his face immediately, snarling as Daishou wiped a knife on his jeans. Another figure, a blond, walked into his line of sight, a pistol loosely held in his hand.

Iwaizumi darted out of hiding, firing his gun in the direction of Daishou, who dodged it with ease, turning to his direction with a grin on his face. When Iwaizumi moved from the shadows, his face fell, and he seemed to almost roll his eyes.

“Nice of you to finally join us.” He taunted, hurling a knife towards him. Iwaizumi felt it knick his ear, and he instantly regretting coming out of hiding. These were, undoubtedly, the deadliest killers in Japan, capable of killing ten of him individually. Against all three? He didn’t stand a chance.

It wasn’t until the man with swords snapped his head up that Iwaizumi’s confusion began to clear, the face familiar as he moved to avoid the blond’s gunfire.

“Kageyama, of corse.” He spat, dashing to duck behind a stack of boxes. “You’re the reason Hinata-”

“God, you only just caught on?” Daishou cackled. Iwaizumi whipped his head around to see him, leaning against the boxes, knife in hand.

Iwaizumi ignored him, taking his pause to run towards an entrance to a large area that would’ve once belonged to a department store. The inside was enormous, and it was easy to escape though the shelves.

Iwaizumi was confused. Why didn't they aim for the kill? Why were they killing bodies that belonged to them? 

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, pausing to reload his gun. He knew a few new things: that Hinata was a spy, Kuroo and Bokuto were gone to the hospital, and Hanamaki was likely engaged in combat. The three hitmen were idle in response to him, despite them taking Oikawa, who only had fifteen minutes left.

A loud crash echoed through the deserted store, causing Iwaizumi to perk up his head. Creeping out of his hiding, gun in hand, Iwaizumi followed the noise, sprinting to the source as fast as his legs would carry him. The sounds of muffled shouting and cries grew louder with each step, and Iwaizumi’s pace grew faster, until he was practically tripping over his feet.

He came to a full halt when he spotted it.

Oikawa was sat in a metal chair, arms strapped to the arms of the chair. His white shirt was stained with light bloodstains and dirt, his hair wild and eyes full of fear. In his mouth was a rag, blocking his yells as a man clocked him in the jaw, hard enough to send his head turning in Iwaizumi’s direction.

Iwaizumi froze when Oikawa’s frenzied eyes met his. He looked up and down his bruised face, eyes wide as Oikawa screamed again, the sound low and blocked by the rag. He thrashed in the chair, earning him another punch. The man looked in Iwaizumi’s direction, before taking a step back, looking bored.

Iwaizumi stood, confused. The man was Ushijima, leader of Shiratorizawa. He didn’t have a single grudge against him, and, as far as he knew, neither did Oikawa. He attempted to fire his gun, only two have two men grab him by the shoulders, prying his gun out his hands as they dragged him closer to the scene.

“You came.” Ushijima said, voice low. “I thought the investigative force didn’t bargain with gangs.”

Iwaizumi growled, thrashing in the arms of the men, eyes darting from Oikawa to Ushijima. “What the hell is going on, and what do you want from me?” He spat. He elbowed the man beside him in the ribs, earning him a punch to the stomach, making him buckle forwards.

Ushijima shrugged. “I want you dead. And more importantly, I want _him_ dead.” He said, pointing to Oikawa, who let out another strangled cry of distress. Oikawa moved his tongue, pressing it against the gag and managed to spit it out. He coughed, gasping for air. 

Ushijima sighed. “I gagged him because he doesn't shut up. He likes to taunt.”

“Iwaizumi, run.” Oikawa said, face dark. “Run, get away from here as fast as you can.”

Iwaizumi wrinkled his brow, confused. “I’m not leaving you here, Oikawa!” He shouted, pulling against the arms around him. He froze, hearing the soft sobs coming from Oikawa.

Oikawa was crying, the tears running down his face as he wrinkled his nose and turned away. His chest heaved, and Iwaizumi grew angrier with each confused second, he pulled forwards again, only to be smacked across the face.

Ushijima cocked his head, looking from Oikawa to Iwaizumi. “You haven’t told him?” He asked, looking puzzled.

“Haven’t told me what?” Iwaizumi gritted through his teeth, still hunched over, craning his neck to look Ushijima in the eye.

Oikawa was crying harder now, the tears running down his face uncontrollably. Silent sobs raked his body, convulsing through him as Ushijima chuckled.

“Oikawa, tell him.” He said, kicking the leg of the chair. OIkawa let out another sob, this time louder, shaking his head.

Ushijima leaned over him, grabbing him by the jaw to look him in the eye. “Tell him, or I do to you what you did to Semi.”

Oikawa spat in Ushijima’s face, leaning back and head butting him smack in the forehead. Ushijima stumbled back, surprised as he wiped the spit from his face, fuming as Oikawa, face now darkened, thrashed against his bindings.

“You say another word, and you die.” He challenged, voice low. Iwaizumi felt chills run down his spin as Ushijima scoffed.

“Do you want it this way? Do you need me to tell him for you? Are you too cowardly to even do that?” Ushijima spat. Oikawa thrashed against, letting out a scream.

Iwaizumi pulled forwards. “Tooru, what is he talking about?” He asked, looking back and forth wildly.

Ushijima sighed, turning to face Iwaizumi entirely. “Meet the leader of the Aoba-Hebi, the most powerfully Yakuza clan in this part of Japan,” Ushijima said. “Oikawa Tooru.”

In that moment, two things happened: Iwaizumi froze, and two bullets ripped through the men holding him down.

Iwaizumi fell onto the ground, watching as the three hitmen rushed in. Daishou ran past them, dashing over to Oikawa. He began sawing through his bindings, handing him another knife and a gun before flipping back to fight the remaining Shiratorizawa members.

Iwaizumi’s sights were only set on one person. Standing up, he aimed him gun as a fleeting Ushijima’s heel, causing him to stumble forward. He ran forwards pushing him with all his body strength. Ushijima aimed a punch at his face, but Iwaizumi ducked, pistol whipping his jaw and pushing him forward.

It was Kageyama who joined him, dual swords in hands. He ran by, slicing along Ushijima’s back and his calves before backing up. 

“Hinata,” He breathed out, eyes darting around wildly.

“Fuck you.” Iwaizumi spat. “Right corridor. Fuck you both.” He said, dodging an elbow from Ushijima.

Meanwhile, Oikawa was busy fighting back to back with Daishou, tossing knives at the men circling them.

“It’s just like the old days, eh?” Daishou said. “If I hold one down, will you pull out a throat again?”

Oikawa laughed bitterly. “The only throat I want is Ushiwaka’s.” He snarled, throwing his knife and grinning when it lodged in the chest of the man directly in front of him.

Neither Iwaizumi nor Oikawa paused to check the thoughts racing through their heads, hands too occupied with the enemy in front of them. Iwaizumi knew if he stopped to think about the reality he just confronted, that he’d end up with a bullet in the brain. Instead, he pushed the thoughts that screamed to betray him aside, focusing his anger into swinging his fist down at Ushijima.

Daishou and Oikawa, with the help of Tsukishima, finished off the men easily. Iwaizumi was still fighting with Ushijima, both sporting multiple scrapes and bruises. They were both close enough that guns were discarded, instead fighting with their bare fists.

It was then that it hit Oikawa, that nothing would be the same.

“No,” He said, taking a step back.

Daishou snarled, running forward to stab Ushijima in the back. That was all Iwaizumi needed to shove him down onto the ground and grip his head, twisting it to the side with a defining crack.

Iwaizumi jumped off of him, watching as Daishou took his placed and began digging his finger’s into the now dead Ushijima’s throat. Iwaizumi whipped his head around, searching for Oikawa only to see him retreating up the service stairwell.

Discarding the people behind him, Iwaizumi ran after him, thoughts swirling into a hurricane as he tried not to trip over his feet.

* * *

Hanamaki found Hinata wiping his bloody hands on his jeans, humming slightly with a slight smile on his face. He rooted himself to the ground at the sight, his blood boiling as Hinata swivelled around to face him, a grin breaking out on his face.

“Hi, Hanamaki!” He said, flashing his usual sunshine filled grin. “How’s it going?”

Hanamaki didn't respond, pulling out his gun and firing at Hinata. Hinata’s eyes widened, giggling slightly as he ducked down and raced towards Hanamaki, who was still firing at him. He narrowly avoided the bullets, and succeeded in kicking Hanamaki’s feet out from under him, causing the taller to crash onto the ground. Hinata jumped onto his chest, a sick smile still on his face as he looked down at him.

“So that’s how we’re gonna play this.” He said, pulling out his gun to aim at Hanamaki’s forehead. “Okay!”

Hanamaki snarled, grabbing Hinata’s ankles and throwing him onto the ground beside him. He kicked him while he was down, before taking time to reload his gun and duck behind a stack of boxes before Hinata began firing.

“Hanamaki,” Hinata said, a pout audible in his voice. “It’s not personal, or anything.”

Hanamaki laughed bitterly, leaning out from his hiding place to fire at Hinata, only to miss and duck back again.

Hinata giggled, walking over to him. “That was a close one, Hanamaki-san!”

Hanamaki stayed silent and hidden, causing Hinata to whine.

“Come on,” He whined, stepping closer to Hanamaki. “This game isn’t fun if you don’t play.”

Hanamaki held his breath, waiting for Hinata to step forward once more before turning to face him, pistol whipping his face and kicking him back. 

“Is this all this is to you?” Hanamaki spat, kicking Hinata in the ribs again as he towered over him. “Some sick kind of game?”

Hinata giggled again, grabbing his gun that slipped out of his grip and firing it at Hanamaki. The bullet lodged itself into his arm, causing Hanamaki to buckle and clutch onto his upper arm. Hinata began to scramble back, only for Hanamaki to kick him in the ribs again, and force him down.

“Why?” He asked, his voice cracking. “Why would you do this?”

Hinata smiled sadly, shrugging as well as he could in his current predicament. “I love him.”

Hanamaki scoffed, kicking his jaw. “And I loved someone too, so you better come up with a better explanation. You were the one who threw us off, right?”

Hinata smiled and grinned. “Yes! And I drew Kuroo and Iwaizumi away from Daishou, and now I’m keeping you away from the leader!” He exclaimed. “And you know the best part? Even though you know you need to backup Iwaizumi, you won’t, because you hate me for helping kill Matsukawa.” 

Hanamaki’s strength faltered at the mention of Matsukawa, and Hinata seized the opportunity to stand up and grab his gun, aiming a perfect shot at his thigh. Pushing Hanamaki to the floor, his face broke out into a gleeful grin. Hanamaki hissed, clutching his thigh as he tried to sit up. Hinata clicked his tongue, pistol whipping Hanamaki and sending him towards the floor.

“You’re not as good at this game as I thought you’d be.” Hinata pouted, leaning forward to lock eyes with Hanamaki. “Should we end this now?”

Hanamaki, with two bleeding wounds, still managed to spit onto Hinata’s face. “No.” He said with a smirk, before reaching up with his good arm and grasping Hinata by the throat.

Stumbling to stand, all of his weight on his right leg, Hanamaki heaved Hinata upwards so his toes were only brushing the floor, the boy’s gun discarded on the ground as Hanamaki choked him. Hinata’s eyes widened, and he brought his hands up to attempt to pry Hanamaki’s hands from his throat, only for the grip to tighten. 

Hinata gasped for air, trying to wrench himself from Hanamaki’s grip in vain; Hanamaki had a height advantage that Hinata couldn't compensate for.

Hanamaki seemed to grow bored of watching Hinata turn blue, because he threw the boy onto the ground with force that seemed super human in his current state. Blood dripping from his arm and leg, Hanamaki grabbed the gun that was discarded on the ground and made his way over to Hinata, who was on all fours, gasping for breath.

Hanamaki kicked him in the stomach, sending Hinata onto his back. Hinata was pressed against a wall as Hanamaki pointed his gun at him, firing three rounds into his stomach. 

Hinata’s ear piercing scream was cut short by him choking as he began to cough blood into his hands. Hanamaki took a step back, looking down at him with a pitiful stare. Hinata looked far from defeated, however. A pained smile was still on his face as he tried to cover the holes in his abdomen. Hanamaki frowned at his expression, and Hinata’s smile only continued to grow.

“ _Tobio_ ,” Hinata croaked. Hanamaki froze, moving to turn a moment too late.

Within a second, a pair of swords were stabbed through Hanamaki’s abdomen. Hanamaki froze, mouth agape and eyes wide as he fell to his knees, the swords pulling out of his stomach.

Kageyama dropped the swords, the metal clanking against the cement floor as he rushed forwards to Hinata, who was still smiling and laughing out of the irony of the situation. Kageyama fell to his knees and crawled up to him, grabbing him by the face and kissing him repeatedly.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Kageyama rushed, pulling off his shirt to wrap around Hinata’s stomach. “We get you to Yachi and Yui, you’ll survive.”

Hinata smiled sadly, moving Kageyama’s arm away from his stomach. “No,” He said, looking up into Kageyama’s blue eyes. “No, I won’t.”

Kageyama shook his head, moving to sweep Hinata up, only to see how big the pool of blood encircling him was. Kageyama ran his hand through it, his brow furrowing and eyes widening, tears spilling onto his cheeks as the knot in his throat grew.

Hanamaki laughed from behind him, choking on his own blood as he heaved forwards. “Why are you so upset?” He said, his voice bitter. “You’re the only reason he’s like this.”

Kageyama balled his hands into fists as he tried to help Hinata up. “Shut up,” He warned.

Hanamaki didn’t listen. “I can’t believe you two. You drop all of your loyalty, for someone you just met.” He said, before coughing harshly and spitting blood onto the floor. 

Kageyama growled, snapping his head around to face Hanamaki. “Why’d you shoot him then? If you were all so loyal to each other, why shoot him?” He screamed.

Hanamaki laughed, lying onto the ground. “He killed Issei.” He said simply. “Issei, who loved pinot noir and cheap vodka, Issei, who went to my little sister’s birthday party, Issei, who came up with some of the best leads for this fucking investigation. And you killed him without a second thought, you killed him before I could tell him I-“ Hanamaki was cut off by Kageyama picking up his sword and pressing it through his chest agonizingly slow.

Hanamaki was crying, but he was still able to speak as the blood rushed from his body. “You try to save someone you love, kill someone else’s love, kill your own love, love, love love.” He croaked,

Kageyama stared down at him, crying angrily. In one swift movement, he brought his sword clean through Hanamaki’s neck, severing his head from his neck.

Hinata was breathing heavily against the wall, playing with the blood that oozed from his side. Kageyama was at hit feet, moving to slip his arms under him and try to lift him up. Hinata closed his eyes, leaning back into the brick, before opening them and running his hand across Kageyama’s tear stained cheek.

“Tobio,” He whispered. “You came, and that’s all that matters.” Hinata said, tears flowing down his face.

Kageyama shook his head wildly, swallowing the knot in his throat. “No,” He said, prying open Hinata’s fluttering eyes. “Of course I came, I love you!” He choked out, his voice raising an octave.

Hinata smiled leaning forwards to rest his forehead upon Kageyama’s. “That’s all I ever wanted,” He said, “For you to love me like I loved you.”

Hinata fell forward again, resting his nose on the crook of Kageyama’s neck. “Please,” He croaked, iron filling his mouth. “Say it.”

Kageyama pulled Hinata into his lap, cradling his bleeding form like a child. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” He repeated, moving Hinata’s head from his neck to look him in the eyes. “I love you, Shouyou, please, don’t leave me.” He whispered.

Hinata was still smiling, his eyes transfixed on Kageyama’s as he reached up his hand to brush the tear under Kageyama’s eye. Kageyama grabbed onto his wrist as it went slack, catching it as Hinata’s eyes began to glass over.

“No,” Kageyama muttered, eyes darting wildly, “I love you, I love you, no, no, I love you.” He said, as Hinata let out a shaky exhale.

“I love you,” He whispered, leaning heavily into Kageyama’s arms. “ _To-bi-o,_ ”

And Kageyama watched as Hinata’s hazel eyes glassed over, as he limbs went slack in his arms. Kageyama ran his voice yelling as he looked down at Hinata’s stomach, at the blood that had pooled onto his clothes and spilled over the floor. Kageyama held Hinata’s body close, crying into his lifeless shoulder.

“All I do is take,” Kageyama muttered. “And now the one person who gave is gone.”

* * *

Iwaizumi raced after Oikawa’s retreating figure, following him as he dashed up a set of industrial stairs. With every step, the stairs rattled, the clanking noises of their heavy footsteps echoing through the empty warehouse, echoing like Iwaizumi’s thoughts in his head.

_Don’t worry about me, Iwa-chan, just a scratch._

_Tokyo is interesting, I guess, it’s busy. Meeting new people, and such._

_You never liked the city, don’t bother to busy._

_Father is fine._

_Hajime- please- I don’t know what to do. I’m lost, help me-_

_Don’t come to his funeral, okay?_

“Tooru, wait!” Iwaizumi called, racing up the stairs. Oikawa looked behind him before opening the heavy metal door and rushing outside, Iwaizumi on his heels.

They burst onto the roof, where the blackened sky hung overhead, clouds menacing and wind bitter cold. It ripped through Iwaizumi’s skin as he raced over to Oikawa, who was facing the edge of the building. Iwaizumi stood at his back, watching as he turned, a sad smile on his face. 

Iwaizumi’s heart dropped like a pin, sinking in his chest as he watched OIkawa let out a forced and shaky laugh before looking up to meet his eyes. His expression was pained and full of sorrow, and Iwaizumi’s heartache despite the feeling boiling in his stomach.

“Tooru,” He said, taking a deep breath. “I will fight you.”

Oikawa averted his eyes, not yet speaking. He reached behind him, grabbing his gun and opening it, dropping the cartage onto the ground. He tossed the gun aside, and then reached for his knives, letting them drop at his feet in a similar fashion, the wind skidding them away as they clattered against the ground.

“I can’t.” Oikawa said, finally speaking up. “I could never.”

Iwaizumi spat on impulse, furrowing his brow. “You can shoot my friends, you can tear them limb from limb but you can’t kill me?”

Oikawa swallowed heavily, running a hand through his wind strewn hair. A nervous habit, one Iwaizumi knew well. He would often run his own fingers through the ashy brown waves, revelling in the softness. But now, he stood planted to the ground, shaking his head.

“Shoot me, goddammit!” He yelled. Tears were welling in his eyes, blurring his vision of the boy in front of him.

Oikawa let out a sob turning away. “I don’t- I can’t, I won’t, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi shook his head, laughing through the tears that were streaming down from his eyes. “You did it, didn't you? Killed your dad, countless others. Without a second thought, like some sadistic bastard.” He spat.

Tremors raked though Oikawa’s body as he gripped onto his arm and shook his head. He sniffed, his ugly tears flowing against his will. There was a lull in the conversation, a lull in the shouting and crying as Iwaizumi dropped his gun and took a step forward.

“Tooru,” He said, his voice quieting.

“Hajime, please-” Oikawa croaked, eyes pleading

Iwaizumi shook his head, trying to regain his sense. “Mo, what the fuck, Tooru? Why, why would you do this?” He asked, eyes darting around his feet before flicking up to meet Oikawa’s.

Oikawa seemed to have gained composure, and he laughed bitterly, kicking at a knife by his feet. “I wanted to ruin him the way he ruined me, Hajime. He killed my mother, did you know that?”” Oikawa said, looking up at the sky. “He beat me, you know? You did, and you were the only one who cared, who knew, even when I didn’t say anything.”

Iwaizumi froze, eyes wide. “He killed her?” He whispered.

Oikawa nodded. “Staged suicide.” He said, his voice audibly hitching. “I found away to survive without her, I never thought-”

“We were always there to take care of you, Tooru!” Iwaizumi exclaimed, leaning forwards to grab onto Oikawa’s shoulder. “Me, my mom, she thought of you as her own son, we could’ve, we could’ve-”

“I didn’t want to be babied! I spent my entire life being the pity child, watching adults look at you with a sad smile because my mother died. The stares, the treatment, god, Hajime, I was the hospital child, and for once in my goddamn life I wanted to fucking do something, to ruin him the way he did to me.” Oikawa shouted, jerking out of Iwaizumi’s touch instinctively. He took a deep breath, steading himself as he took a step back. “He beat me and it took ten years to learn that I didn’t love him, I feared him.” Oikawa croaked.

“Tooru, I can’t, I thought he stopped, I always thought after your mother died he stopped.” Iwaizumi said, his voice shaking. “You were so despondent when he died, I thought you died after his funeral, I wanted to avenge that for you, I didn’t think-”

Oikawa let out another bitter laugh. “Whatever, you had no way of knowing, I never said a thing.” He said. Iwaizumi felt wetness on his neck, and watched as Oikawa pulled away. “Well, you’re fucked now, huh? I was the one who killed him.”

Iwaizumi felt a pang in his heart as Oikawa shivered, running his hands down his sides. “I can’t forgive you for doing this. For killing people, I just can’t, Tooru.” He said, tears slipping down his nose.

Oikawa nodded as another gust of icy wind blew through them, sending shudders down the pair’s spines, Iwaizumi bracing himself as he watched Oikawa clutch onto his torso for warmth. How badly did he want to go beside him, to close the gap between them and wrap his arms around his shoulders, to bring him home like not a thing had happened. But it was too late for that now; no amount of bleach could strip the blood on Oikawa’s hands.

“You know what’s sick?” Iwaizumi said, looking up to meet Oikawa’s desperate eyes. “Despite all of this shit, despite all that you’ve done, I still love you. I'm still in love with you, for some sick reason, I still want to hold you as you sleep and kiss your bruises and take care of you and I am so angry that I didn’t notice things before and god, I want it, the peace and the softness, back. I just- I don't know. You left me one, Tooru, I don't know what I’d do if you left again” He said. His voice was so quiet over the howling wind, and it made Oikawa smile half halfheartedly. Iwaizumi took a step forwards, and he watched with pain as Oikawa took a step back.

“I ruined your life.” Oikawa said, smiling sadly. “I killed your friends, I made you so anxious, so stressed, I made your life a living hell. You’ll never be happy with me, Iwaizumi. I’ve never felt true happiness without you, but you’ve felt it without me, I know it. I destroy everything I touch, and even the lightest cares shatters. Hajime, I’m a hurricane, a tornado, I’m snow in may and the kind of cold that is merciless with a single exception. You.”

Iwaizumi parted his lips, taking a step forward to touch Oikawa’s cheek. “Tooru,” He whispered. “I love you, Tooru.”

Oikawa’s smile grew as he continued to cry, continuing to step back until his feet were at the edge of the roof. Iwaizumi froze in place as Oikawa looked over his shoulder at the abyss below, his smile faltering before he turned back to face Iwaizumi.

“It’s better this way, right Hajime?” He said, looking him dead in the eye. “I can die knowing my last words will be about how much I love you.”

Iwaizumi shook his head, looking at Oikawa with confusion in his eyes. “No, Tooru-”

But Tooru wasn’t listening, and Hajime raced forwards as Tooru leaned back, sending himself falling off the roof. And Hajime leant over the side, watching as Tooru fell, eyes closed and face slack, mouth still held in the same smile he reserved for dead birds and wilted flowers. And as Iwaizumi screamed his voice hoarse, watching Oikawa’s body hit the pavement, snow began to fall, the bitter winds, so unlike May, ripping through him and sending the cold power sideways into his eyes. It numbed his fingertips and toes as he looked down, face contorted in pain, tears running down his face as he screamed, but the snow couldn’t touch the burning ache in his heart as he moved to run down the steps, to find Tooru’s unmoving body, surrounded by blood. And Hajime kissed the lifeless body of Oikawa Tooru, blood smearing onto his face as the snow fell onto his ashy brown hair and chilled him to the bone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry  
> next chapter is an epilogue/who lives vs who dies. cry in my ask box on tumblr (spacegaykj)


	19. epilogue: who lives, who dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, thank you, thank you. this fic has been my baby since april, and i cannot believe that its finally over. this is a culmination of feverish typing, googling the deadliness of stab wounds and their healing process among other things, writing, writing, rewriting.  
> it couldnt have been done without all of you and your comments, so thank you, thank you, thank you.  
> (i am the queen of bittersweet endings)

Kenma was rewrapping his bandages when he heard a knock on the door. Rising from where he was sat on the floor, he meandered his way to the door, pulling it open to face none other than Daishou.

Kenma barely reacted as he opened the door wider to allow him in, avoiding the box pressed close to the door way. Daishou smiled, flashing a toothy grin that didn't extend to his eyes. He walked past Kenma, moving to lean against one of the bare walls. Kenma followed in suit, brushing his hair from his eyes.

“So it’s true, hm?” Daishou said, taking a look around the flat, at the boxes stacked and littering the room. “You’re moving.”

Kenma hummed and nodded, stretching his arms behind his back. “We waited for the funerals, but the both of us were antsy to leave.”

Daishou nodded, his smirk faltering. “God, he was always good at running things. I’m not nearly as people-oriented as he was.”

“You’ve got charisma. Besides, he only got what he wanted by being scary. You’re plenty scary.” Kenma mused. 

The air was silent between the two as Daishou picked up the cat that had been rubbing against his legs since he had arrived. He let out a deep sigh, cuddling the cat closer. “I miss him.”

Him, an unsaid name, a face with a charming smile and brown swept hair. Him, the boy who gouged out eyes for fun. Him, the lion who loved the lamb.

“Hajime never said anything,” Kenma said, moving to take the cat from Daishou’s arms. “But I think he knows.”

Daishou shrugged. “Still doesn't mean he deserved to die that way.” He looked down at his feet, swearing. “I miss the fucker.”

Kenma sighed. “So do I.”

Daishou rolled a shoulder, a knife slipping from his garments and clattering to the ground. He looked down at it mournfully, picking it back up to twirl in is fingers. A nervous twitch, a habit. He looked almost human, standing there in Kenma’s empty flat.

“Kiyoko is gonna miss you.” Daishou stated. Kenma shrugged. He’d miss her too, but he doubted they’d talk again after he left.

Daishou rubbed the back of his neck, taking a step closer to Kenma. “He’s a good guy, y’know.” He said, averting his eyes. “Kuroo, I mean. He’s a cop, but it’s not personal, what happened between us. At least, to me. He’s good for you, I’m glad you two are leaving together.”

Kenma looked up from his sock feet in surprise. Daishou rarely said anything with sincerity, and despite his ability to let things go, he always brushed it off as not caring. But there was something different this time, about the way Daishou’s face was relaxed, the newfound softness in his eyes.

“It’s a miracle he survived.” Kenma replied. Translation: thank you, unsaid, but as loud as the howling winds outside.

Neither mentioned the certain ginger boy who had brought him to that state. Neither mentioned Kageyama either. Kenma hadn’t seen him since that night, but he knew Daishou had.

Daishou spoke up again, brushing his hair from his face. “I’m gonna miss you too.” He said.

Kenma nodded. _So will I_ , He thought.

Daishou handed him the knife he was twirling, a silvery blue thing, the hilt a sleek black. Kenma accepted it, admiring the grooves in the blade as he tucked it away. When he looked up, Daishou was already gone, and so was the howling wind.

* * *

 

**_Five years later-_ **

Kageyama pressed his sword through the man’s body in front of him, momentarily entranced by the way surprise road over his feature before the lives left through his eyes. He pulled out as quickly as he pressed them in, jumping to slice through another man’s neck as he moved through the room.

He made quick work of the entire thing, slicing through bodies with vigour, not even stopping to breathe. When the final body crashed to the ground, Kageyama let his guard drop, letting an exhausted sigh slip through his lips.

He stepped over the officer’s body, freezing when he spotted it. A head of ginger hair, a flash from the corner of his eye. He turned around, eyes wild, only to spot the body slumped against the wall. The man was large around the middle, nose much to big, but the sight of orange hair was enough to send Kageyama into a frenzy.

He knew, he knew it wasn’t him, knew that what was left of Hinata was in the necklace that sat against his chest. Kageyama leaned against the brick wall, for a moment, catching himself remembering a whirlwind of a boy, with vibrant hair and a vibrant smile to match.

In hindsight, everything was a mistake. Hinata was always moving, always running from something he wasn't able to catch. Kageyama was headstrong, stubborn enough to think that he could run beside him, that he could keep with his pace forever. 

Hinata loved like the whirlwind he was, and he left Kageyama in the dust. All or nothing, black or white, one or the other for the boy who lived exclusively in colour and god, Kageyama felt the ache throb through him as he remembered it. Remembered blood, warm and sticky on his clothes, remembered staggering away from the warehouse with him in his arms. 

He let out a shaky breath, because there was never a scenario without Hinita laying on his chest, bleeding out, in the end. And Kageyama let himself settle in the reality that there was no variable outcome where Hinata and him were happy. 

And there never would be.

It rained often, and Kageyama hardly noticed the sun.

* * *

 

Keiji opened his eyes with the sun, humming as she cast her warmth onto his arms. The room smelt earthy, a scent he wasn’t quite acustom to, but loved nonetheless. He sat up, stretching out his arms as he kicked his feet over the edge of the bed, feeling around on the floor for a discarded shirt to wear. He pulled it up, taking deep breath. Koutarou’s scent covered the garmet, and Keiji revelled in the aroma as he pulled it over his head. 

Boxers were next, and as Keiji dressed, he listened to the sounds of pots and pans clanking from the other room. A shrill shriek accompanied them, followed by a woman’s shouting. Keiji laughed to himself, tucking his shirt into a high waisted pair of jeans. He made his way to the attached bathroom, looking at his reflection with contempt. There were bruises littering his neck, wanted, adored, from the voice he could hear yelling loudly about something or another. Keiji smiled again, fingering the faded spots, dusting a power to hastily conceal them, not that it did much.

When Keiji slipped out of the washroom, he was greeted with the sight of Koutarou chasing two girls out of the kitchen with a spachula, yelling about how bad girls don’t get to try his Amazing And Wonderful Breakfast.

Keiji shook his head, a fond smile on his face as the two girls greeted him before running off. They were the youngest, aged seven and nine. Their hair was white, a gene in Koutarou’s mother’s family. Koutarou’s mother smiled at him from the kitchen table, beckoning him over for coffee as Bokuto slipped back into the kitchen, not noticing his lover appear.

Koutarou’s mother looked lively, despite the children running amok the house. She was young, only forty-six. Keiji had since learned Koutarou was the result of a teenage pregnancy, and that his mother was more than happy to raise him. It wasn’t until later in life that she decided to have more children, despite still living on her own.

Keiji smiled, accepting the coffee before pouring cream into it. She smiled knowingly at him, eyes lingering on his neck for a second longer than Keiji would’ve liked before she leaned over the table to place a kiss on Keiji’s forehead.

“You know,” She said, grabbing his hand. “We’ll miss having your help on the farm.”

Akaashi took a sip of his coffee, smiling slightly. “Me and Kou will just be in town, we can come for dinner whenever you like, or you can come over. It’s pretty spacious, but I think that’s because it’s above the restaurant.”

“But you’re right across from the docks!” She exclaimed. “It’ll be great, you two can go swimming and collect shells, the whole bit.”

Keiji’s smile grew. “Maybe my next novel will be about the sea.”

Bokuto’s mother stood, moving to ruffle his hair. “Now that you finished school, I expect more reading material. How will I, and your adoring fans, survive without it?” She said, before leaving the table to help with breakfast.

Keiji sighed, sipping his coffee as someone took her place, another girl at her side. Koutarou’s other sisters, twins aged twelve, sat down, giggling about something or another. Keiji continued to drink his coffee as they chattered, bouncing excitedly before they began to bicker, Keiji’s cue to snatch his mug and move to another room and Koutarou’s mother ducked back in, telling them off.

Keiji laughed, opening the patio door and moving to sit outside, the sun’s rays warming his face as he moved to lean against the wooden rail, looking over the acres of farmland in front of him. Already leant against the rail was a girl, older, her black hair swept into a ponytail away from her face. She was petting the dog beside her, a mastiff, as she looked out at the view.

Joining her, Akaashi bumped her shoulder lightly. It hadn’t been long since they had started speaking to each other again, him and his sister, but he cherished every moment they spent together, even if she never said much to him either way. 

Even now, Eshima simply nodded, her piercing eyes not meeting his as she continued to pet the dog at her side. The girl and the dog were inseparable, and even when she went to work in the fields on the farm, he would follow along.

Keiji accepted her silence, knowing better than to linger when she was making it clear she needed a moment away. He grabbed his mug, revelling in the sun for a moment more before ducking back into the house.

Koutarou was so kind, Keiji thought, asking his mother to employ him, and later, his sister, on the farm. They had left Tokyo in the dust, Keiji enrolling in online schooling, and Koutarou opening a homey restaurant in the small town near his mother’s farm. Yaku and Suga eventually left as well, both taking jobs on the farm and choosing to live together in the town. It made Keiji warm,knowing that at least some people from his past were able to make it out of it alive.

He heard a shot, signalling that breakfast was ready, and he made his way to the dinningroom where Koutarou was placing a tray on the table. He sprung up, face lighting up when he spotted Keiji standing.

“Kei-ji~” He sang, engulfing him in a tight hug. “How’d you sleep?”

Keiji smiled into Koutarou’s shoulder, rubbing a hand over his bicep. “Like a rock.”

Koutarou pulled away with a grin before moving to lean down and plant kiss on Akaashi’s lips. The pair could hear his sisters fake gagging, but paid no mind as the split apart, still staring each other in the eye.

Breakfast was decadent, Koutarou’s cooking unfathomably good. Keiji released a strangled moan as he stuffed his mouth with eggs, causing Bokuto to puff out his chest and boast like he always did.

“Sickening.” One of his sisters whispered.

“They’re disgusting.” Another agreed.

“Sh!” The youngest said, mouth full. “They’wr win wuv.” 

Koutarou and Keiji cleaned up together, stacking grease lad plates and wiping down the grimy table with more ease than effort. Koutarou hummed the entire time, his hands ghosting over Keiji’s back whenever they were close. Keiji sighed, enjoying his warmth as he finished scrubbing the dishes dry.

He turned around to face Koutarou, who was stroking an old cat with his foot. She looked pissed, but her purrs of contempt told otherwise. She moved, stretching out before walking out of the kitchen. Koutarou smiled as she left, eyes momentarily leaving Keiji, giving him enough time to pounce. Keiji lunged forwards, grabbing Koutarou’s shirt to tug him close and kiss him.

The kiss wasn’t sloppy, but it was wet, Koutarou’s tongue quickly swiping over Keiji’s bottom lip as he moved to press the raven haired man against the counter, looming froward as he wrapped his hands around his waist.

Keiji couldn’t help himself, smiling into the kiss as he trailed his hands under Koutarou’s shirt, running his nails over his back as they kissed.

Koutarou broke apart, a gleeful grin on his face. “I can’t wait to see Kuroo and Kenma tonight.”

Keiji hummed in response, laying his head against his chest. “Their house won’t be far from our new flat. We’ll probably see it from the dock. Now come back and kiss me.”

Bokuto laughed, deep and booming, leaning down to kiss Keiji, still smiling as he grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the kitchen and towards their room.

And Keiji couldn't help but let the laughter bubble up, because they were there, in a big farmhouse in the countryside, away from the drugs, away from the lingering touch of strangers, away from the bullets and blood that always seemed the fall. He had traded that life for the one with more smiles, one with less stress, with farm work and lots of children he never thought would like him.

And as Koutarou kicked the door behind them close and Keiji flopped onto the bed, he marbled in the way being sexual came without being a commodity, the way it flowed through his body without effort as Koutarou kissed up his stomach to his neck and began pressing open mouthed kisses to the bruises that already rested there.

It was home, home that smelt like earth and pine and _Koutarou_ , _Koutarou_ , _Koutarou_.

* * *

 

It was loud, Kenma thought. Loud, loud and wonderful.

Crashing waves, harsh and spectacular against the rocks his- their- house was perched upon. The waves were much lower usually, but it was high tied, and from the living room where Kenma sat, he could hear the ever steady sound of the water lapping against the stones. It calmed the anxiety that dwelled in Kenma’s chest, banished it to the corners of his head where the waves would crash and roll against, until the tide pulled out, left him to linger on the thoughts again.

His hair was about the same length, if not longer. He still forgot to re-dye his roots, opting instead to let them grow until his hair was more brown than blonde before hastily bleaching it. The wound on his ribs, an ugly scar among many. With every deep breath did not come physical pain, but the memory had settled in his bones.

Kuroo was by the docks; he had left when Kenma was napping. It left Kenma alone, left him to contain the panic that always ensued. Time heals wounds that are less than skin deep, the rest scab over and are left to be picked at, time after time, until they bleed again.

Kenma threw open the sliding door in the living room, seeking solace by the ocean. His dress billowed in the wind as he carefully made his ways down the side of the cliff, clinging onto the rocks for support as he stepped on the slippery wooden stairs barefoot.

Low tide left pools of crabs and crustaceans, with coral and small fish swimming in the small chambers. Kenma sat beside on, trailing his finger in the cool water as he breathed in the salty air. It was cool, and Kenma pulled the sleeves of his sweater down to his fingertips, not minding that they soaked with water.

Kenma wasn’t easy to read, but Kuroo had gotten to know him inside out, gotten to know the way he flinched and the way his withered and the way he smiled, and, on rare occasions, laughed. And yet, Kenma had hidden one thing he knew Kuroo could never know, hid the one thing he desperately wanted to scream, but kept silent, choked down. It was only amongst the sea creatures and ocean that he was able to whisper it through bitten lips.

“I made drugs for a living.” He muttered, closing his eyes, inhaling through his nose. 

Facing the wind, he left the ocean run over and through his toes before racing back. He wasn’t sure how long he spent there, but when he opened his eyes, Kuroo was sitting next to him, sifting through the pools while watching Kenma through the corner of his eyes. He was wearing a sweater, but had a worn jacket thrown over his shoulder, the one Kenma always stole. Kuroo smiled, holding up a clam before throwing it into the bucket he was holding.

“I knew you’d be here.” He said, moving to sit next to him. He draped the sweater over Kenma’s shoulders, moving his hand to intertwine with Kenma’s. “You’re dress is all wet.”

Kenma shrugged, leaning his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. “You can wash it, then.”

Kuroo laughed, laying his head atop Kenma’s. It was silent, except for the sounds of their breathing and the gentle trickle of the water between their toes. Kuroo had shucked off his shoes as well, and his toes squirmed against Kenma’s, tickling him as he held him close. 

It was silence, what was between them. The ocean was plenty loud, and the wind blew through them, strong as ever. Neither spoke, silently vowing to let the nature around them shift instead of their voices.

Kuroo was the one to break it.

“I think I always knew.” He spoke, his voice warm and low and everything that should be comforting Kenma, but instead sent shivers through him and forcing him to freeze.

_He heard me,_ Kenma thought, breath shortening and eyes widening. _He knows, he knows, he knows he knows-_

“But it makes sense, in retrospect. You were on the streets, a kid with enough knowledge to be useful. You get swept up in it, become attached to the wrong things.” He continued, staring straight out at the grey-blue expanse of the sea. “But you left. That’s what matters, you put it behind you, you deserted it.”

The waves and the wind seemed to quiet, as if they were eavesdropping on their conversation. Kenma’s heart beat in his ears, loud and threatening as he tried desperately to time his breathing to the tide, each inhale with the pull, each exhale with the wave.

“I’ve done terrible things, Tetsurou.” Kenma whispered when he spoke. “The leader of Shiratorizawa, he shot me, so I pulled out his eye and broke his bones.”

“That’s different,” Kuroo stated. “He shot first, besides he’s a criminal.”

“Like me.” Kenma shot back.

“You had no choice, didn’t you?” Kuroo said. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

Kenma relaxed, because Kuroo was right. He was right, and he was forgiving, and he knew that there was a part of Kenma that was dark and twisted beyond his understanding. And as the tide continued to pull, leaving crabs and shells at their feet, Kenma allowed Kuroo to place a delicate kiss on his lips. He tasted like salt water, the kind that flowed from the oceans and your eyes, and Kenma’s sighed as Kuroo brought his hand up to his face, caressing his cheek.

Kuroo continued to press forwards, and Kenma responded by bringing his hands up to tangle in his wild black mess of a hairstyle, allow Kuroo to pull him into his lap and pull Kenma close to his chest. They stopped kissing for a moment, eyes both half lidded, as Kenma leaned over him, their foreheads touching, lips so close, sampling breathing in each other. 

“I love you, Kozume.” Kuroo whispered, voice husky. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The waves behind them crashed, and the wind howled, and Kenma leaned down, and connected their lips once more.

* * *

 

Tokyo was as busy as always. Bright lights on a cloudy evening, the sky beginning to darken into a haze, the neon signs littering the street casting their florescent glow onto the streets. Iwaizumi smelt like jasmine and lilies, the fragrance of the flowers laying next to him swirling around the car.

He walked through the gate, following the familiar path, counting the headstones to his right before pausing and turning right. The bouquet felt heavy in his hand as he walked up to the familiar grave, so bright against the frosted ground and pale grey stone.

Iwaizumi bent down, settling the flowers atop the grave. They sat among a small bundle of pink roses and carnations, and a crumpled bundle of tulips. That corner of the cemetery was secluded under a large willow tree, it’s branches hanging low overtop of Iwaizumi’s head as he straightened. It was rare he’d spot another person here, and even on this day, he was the only one.

His breath was shaky as he looked down, rubbing the headstone. “Hey, Tooru.” He said, “I’m back.”

“It’s been five years,” He continued, staring down at the message carved into the stone. _meminerunt omnia amantes. lovers remember all._ It was oddly fitting.

“Kuroo and his boyfriend, fiancé, whatever, invited to their house in the countryside. Bo and Akaashi live there, too, but I don’t think I could take seeing them all at once.” He said. “Especially Kuroo’s fiancé, Kenma. I know you two were close. I wonder if he was involved. They all were, looking back on it, probably. I don’t think about that a lot.”

“When I think about it,” He said, looking up at the willow tree, “I think about you. You and your expensive alcohol, bathing me in your huge porcelain tub. I think about you and me, as kids, stargazing, or watching your stupid X Files or bad action movies. We loved those, those nights spent in tents in our backyards. I like to say I wouldn't trade those moments for anything but, you know.” He said, clearing his throat. 

The wind blew through Iwaizumi, chilling him to the bone as he remembered. Remembered how Oikawa always had his nails perfectly trimmed, how his hands were so soft, how his toes were so cold. He remembered how he would drape his toes over Iwaizumi’s warm lap in a desperate attempt to warm his body in the cold, and he remembered the sound of his laugh, his cry, his whines, his moans, the way he’d turn up his nose and scoff when he was in a mood.

And before he knew it, Iwaizumi was sobbing, the tears flowing down his face before he could stop them, his breath hiccuping against his will. He held his face in his palms, and shoved the memory of Oikawa holding him far, far away. 

“You left me Tooru,” He choked, trying in vain to control the lump in his throat. “You left me crying and smiling at the same time twice, and you didn’t even say goodbye.”

And Iwaizumi let the sobs rake through his body, falling to his knees to become eye level wit the flowers placed on the headstone. The wind stopped feeling like wind, instead, it started feeling like knives pressing into his side as he regained composure, his breath steadying as the tears fell steady.

What a sick curse, Iwaizumi thinks, What a sick curse to place on a boy. To give him the heavens and to give him the one who is prepared to shelter him from the storm, only to learn that he is the hurricane, he is the blizzard and the lightning. And Iwaizumi is heartbroken, because blood is blood on hands clean and dirty, and although they can’t be compared, the night on the roof was accompanied by hatred for a phantom person, a phantom self. Iwaizumi could only pray that the stars and cards told that Oikawa lived happily in at one point.

(It was a foolish idea, he knew. He thought it anyways).

Oikawa, who grew up with bruises and later without a mom, Oikawa, who spent summers in Tokyo throwing knives and selling secrets, Oikawa who saved someones life by killing another, Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa, and Iwaizumi didn’t know if it was sickening that he still loved him, despite it all.

Iwaizumi stood, tears still slipping down his face. He leaned forwards, fixing the flowers on the headstone before taking a deep sigh, looking up at the grey sky. He looked back down, at his hand that had grown numb with cold, and smiled sadly.

“Would you look at that,” He mused. “It’s snowing.”

* * *

_ “My hands are of your colour, but I shame to wear a heart so white.”  _

_ ― William Shakespeare, Macbeth _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some questions to leave in the comments or my ask box on tumblr (spacegaykj)  
> which characters did you end up rooting for? since the stories intertwined in a way many ended up being enemies, which did you hope survived? do you think that there would've ever been a "happy" ending?   
> ill take any questions about the au on my tumblr, and basically chat about it over there.  
> once again, im humbled by all the support i got for this. please read my other stuff, its pretty cool.  
> thank you, thank you, thank you~

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @ spacegaykj !!!!


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